


BATIM the Jukebox Musical, Or: Sampson and Samuel Lawrence In Soul-Splitting Symphonies!

by Hello_Im_not_a_possum



Series: _en_y And The Dreemurr Team [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Cartoon Physics, Censored Swearing, Changing what TYPE of Ink Monster You Are is also Not Fun, Chaos Ensues, Creepy Sammy Lawrence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, False Memories, Gen, His heart is in the right place but it's made out of ink so..., Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Memory Loss, Power of Friendship, Recovered Memories, Redemption, Sammy didn't make a 180 flip from hating Bendy to worshiping him for no reason, Song Lyrics, Stockholm Syndrome, Swearing, Time Loop, Transformation, Video Game Mechanics, Weird Biology, becoming an ink monster is not fun, he is still a music man and he will SING
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Im_not_a_possum/pseuds/Hello_Im_not_a_possum
Summary: A crazy musician swallows things he probably shouldn't be swallowing, talks to himself too much, spontaneously bursts into song, and often has the near uncontrollable urge to kill things. That's probably why he's the only one in the game who's getting a sanity meter.
Series: _en_y And The Dreemurr Team [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659073
Comments: 61
Kudos: 55





	1. Two down, over 998 more to go.

At first, all it knew was darkness.

It's own thoughts, its own memories, it was just it by itself, watching everything it was and or used to be swim around it like fish. It was okay with this, it was quiet, it was calm, it could recollect itself at its own pace. Then, as if a bubble that protected it popped, it could hear voices... thousands of them, all wailing, screaming, crying, too many voices, too loud, too hopeless, too much of everything! it couldn't take it! it had to escape!

It clawed its way up, fearing the things that kept dragging it down, No! please let it escape! It doesn't want to go back!

The voices didn't listen to its desperate pleas for mercy, they only continued to pull it back down.

No, no, no. Please, stop dragging it back down, it's too loud! there's too much screaming! It doesn't wanna go back there! It just wants some quietness! Please!

**"Alright, c'mere you..."**

It felt something else grab it, unlike the things in the well, the Savior wasn't pulling it down, He was pulling it up... It wailed in surprise and fear as it was pulled out of the cold dark wetness of the well. It clutched tightly to its Savior and buried its head in his bony chest.

"No, no, no! Why does he keep coming out like this?! He needs to be the Prophet! Not a Searcher!"

It didn't like the noises the thing next to its Savior made, it wrapped its arms around him and clung tighter to its Lord, fearing that the thing would hurt it and throw it back into the well.

 **"I don't know!"** The Savior patted its back reassuringly, **"Look, maybe this happened because you just used too much acetone on him this time. I could ****_feel_** **that you used over twice the amount you usually use! that's gonna overload some people, especially the ones who were already nuts!** **"**

"Don't try to blame me for this! If you kept your prophet in line in the first place, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

It let out a distressed cry as its Lord comforted it.

**"Shh, shh, it's okay Sam. You're okay."**

Sam... Its name was Sam! the Savior knew its name was Sam!

"Wait a minute, what's that thing?"

**"It's his soul, what about it?"**

"No wonder he's been like this! it's broken in half!"

**"Well, it was like this _before_ he became my prophet in the first place, so I don't think that's the case..."**

"How?! When a human's soul breaks in half, it shatters and then they die!"

**"Well, how did *your* soul break in half without you kicking the bucket? _Neither of you have been human for a very long time now, have you?_ "**

"Don't try to argue with me! fix it and throw him back in there!"

**"I'll do it, but when this spectacularly blows up in your face, I'm gonna laugh my head off!"**

"Well? what are you waiting for? Just reach in there and 'click'!"

**"Hey! Soul repair takes time, okay!? It's not just _'reach in there and *click*'_ ...Especially when its been broken for so long..."**

Its Lord brought him into a room that had a table and a machine that was familiar to it in the corner... A machine that it already feared even more than the dark puddles or the angry thing! The second its lord put him down on the table-

**_"S҉̶͟C̴͠R̷̨E͏̡҉E̢̧E͝E̵E͞Ȩ̨Ȩ҉̧E̵̴̛E͡EE̕E̴Ę̕͠!̶̡͞!͏!̴͡"_ **

**" &@^$ing #*!! Sammy!"**

It fled away from the room as fast as it could move before its Lord caught up to it and scooped it up in his arms.

**"It's not gonna hurt _that_ much, it'll just be a little bit uncomfortable at some points, but nowhere near the puddle levels, okay?"**

It looked up to its Lord, wanting to believe him and what he was saying but his fear of the machine was just too overpowering! Oh wait, he thought it fled because it feared what fixing its soul would be like.

It pointed to the machine as it let out a whine, it's lord turned to look where it was pointing.

**"Ooooh, I get it! the machine's freaking you out, isn't it?"**

It nodded.

**"Don't worry, we're not gonna need it to fix you, we're just here for the table. _and to stay outta earshot of that &@^$wad..._"**

It didn't feel reassured, but it wanted to trust its Lord so it nervously stayed put as he did his work. Its lord plunged his five-fingered hand into its chest and he felt it wriggle around in there until he had found what he was looking for.

**"There we go!"**

It felt its Lord pull something out of its chest, from what it could see, it looked like half of a purple broken heart. After its lord triumphantly raised the soul in his hand, it was filled with pure fury!

Memories flowed into its mind; the grinning demon chasing it throughout a sepia-toned maze of an animation studio, the inky devil taunting it and mocking it and the rest of its flock as they tried to remember who they used to be, the false shepherd promising freedom in exchange for it doing impossible tasks and what he did to punish it when it couldn't do them!

It attacked him without regret or mercy, it knew all he was was a lying sack of smiling shit that had the audacity to call himself a god.

**"YEAOUCH! LAWRENCE! WHAT'S GOTTEN INTO YOU!?"**

The false god plunged his arm into its chest again as it hissed and bit him. It only stopped its rampage as the Ink Demon pulled out the second half of the heart and it fell to the table, cold and lifeless without a soul to animate it.

**"Okay, and now we get to work..."**

It did not move or reply.

**"You know Sammy, This might be my only opportunity to say it to you, which really sucks because I don't even know if you can mentally process what I'm saying anymore or if you'll remember this anyway... But just in case you can: I'm sorry."**

It continued to not move, it couldn't exactly do anything while its demon continued to talk.

**"You (now literally) poured your heart and soul into every single song and sound effect on the show, you were a jack of all trades but a master of music! Animating, voice acting, singing, god-knows-what-else-but-I'm-sure-it-ends-in-"ing"... From what I've heard, in the early days of the studio you and Henry were the ones putting the most blood sweat and tears into this show, and when he left for good..."**

It emotionlessly watched on as he broke the already broken heart even more, much like how a doctor re-breaks a bone that heals the wrong way.

**"You got sick of being the one stuck dealing with the lion's share of Joey's crap, you couldn't confront Joey himself so you poured that hatred into Bendy, the pipes, bitching about Joey behind his back, etc. And when I first met you, I wanted to be Bendy more than anything else in the world so I took your hatred for 'Bendy' way too personally..."**

He put the soul shards in a small bowl of water and shook them to clean them, then he took out a second bowl put in ink and something that shined a strange golden color.

**"I wanted to _ruin_ you, I wanted to see you... break down in every way imaginable so that when you fell apart, _I could rebuild you into my biggest fan._ When you drank the ink, I found out I could manipulate you. So I started off by playing with your anger and paranoia cranked both those &^@!#es well past 11 and watched with glee as you drove everybody who ever cared about you out of your life. I didn't give a single honest to God &@^! about any issues you had before or what you had to go through to get where you were, I just wanted a fan and was willing to ruin lives to get one."**

He froze for a bit as it let out a gurgling noise before continuing.

**"Well, after driving everyone who could've saved you away, I got what I thought I wanted; 'my biggest fan'. But it wasn't enough, I wanted a soul, and you gave up yours for me! I didn't accept it, (or at least, I didn't accept all of it...) and instead I made you get souls for me until I thought I had the perfect one. With my shiny brand new soul cobbled together out of soul scraps I liked, brand new voice courtesy of your voice acting, and brand new fan club, I thought I could finally make Joey proud of me for once..."**

He poured the soul shards down on the table, dried them off and begun to use the inky mixture to piece them together.

 **"Guess what Joey actually did? No really, take a wild guess."** The demon sighed as it didn't answer him **"He locked me away again! He locked me away and he FORCED ME to watch those stupid Bendy cartoons over and over and over again _'until I got it right'_! The #@$!@%^..."**

The demon worked on the soul in silence for hours before speaking again.

**"...I now understand where you came from when you hated Bendy so much... And I really am sorry for what I did to you out of misplaced anger..."**

He said as he looked at his handiwork. The now fixed soul was a beautiful thing that made him think of stained glass. The purple and white shards shined brilliantly against the black ink that filled in the cracks. As the Ink Demon placed the soul into its chest, Joey spoke up.

"Why is his soul upside down?"

**"It is? huh, weird."**

"It IS weird, why is it upside down?!"

**"Look, human souls are weird in general. I mean, mine's upside down all the time and you aren't complaining about _that_!"**

"You aren't supposed to even HAVE a soul! Look, just give it here, I'll fix it..."

 **"Susie's literally slamming the bunk bed against the guest room door as we speak! Shouldn't you be dealing with that?! This is _MY_ Prophet, and _I_ fixed him!"** ****

* * *

*Please select a save file.

*The Bellwether

*Sammy Lawrence

*Landon A. Shepherd

\---

*Please select a save file.

*The Bellwether

💜Sammy Lawrence.

*Landon A. Shepherd

*Save file is corrupt, erase it?

*Yes. 💜 *No.

💜Yes. *No.

*Save file has been erased.

\---

*Please select a save file.

*The Bellwether

*NEW GAME

*Landon A. Shepherd

\---

*Please select a save file.

*The Bellwether

💜NEW GAME

*Landon A. Shepherd

\---

ARE YOU THERE?

ARE WE CONNECTED?

💜

EXCELLENT.

TRULY EXCELLENT.

WE MAY BEGIN.

FIRST, WE MUST CREATE A VESSEL-

💜I Can Draw it.

OH? CAN YOU?

💜Yes.

EXCELLENT. DRAW YOUR VESSEL AND I WILL CREATE IT.

THIS IS YOUR BODY.

DO YOU ACCEPT IT?

💜Yes.

EXCELLENT.

YOU HAVE CREATED A WONDERFUL FORM.

NOW.

LET US SHAPE IT'S MIND AS YOUR OWN.

WHAT IS ITS FAVORITE FOOD?

💜SWEET

*SOFT

*SOUR

*SALTY

*PAIN

*COLD

YOUR FAVORITE BLOOD TYPE?

*A

*AB

*B

💜C

*D

WHAT COLOR DOES IT LIKE MOST?

💜RED

*BLUE

*GREEN

*CYAN

PLEASE GIVE IT A GIFT.

*KINDNESS

*MIND

*AMBITION

*BRAVERY

💜VOICE

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR CREATION? (IT WILL NOT HEAR.)

*LOVE

*HOPE

💜DISGUST

*FEAR

HAVE YOU ANSWERED HONESTLY?

💜YES

*NO

YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THE POSSIBILITY OF PAIN AND SEIZURE.

💜YES

*NO

UNDERSTOOD.

NAME YOUR VESSEL.

💜Sammy Lawrence

WE CALLED IT "SAMMY LAWRENCE".

AND WHAT ABOUT THE CREATOR?

YOUR OWN NAME.

💜Sam Lawrence.

"SAM LAWRENCE"

OF COURSE,

OF COURSE,

OF COURSE. THEY ARE THE SAME.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME.

YOUR ANSWERS,

YOUR WONDERFUL CREATION,

Will not be the first form you take.

Unfortunately, you and I both know that the rules of your world are against you.

Your name is-

* * *

It was pulled out of the darkness again as a scared, uncomfortable, dazed and confused thing without any information on what it was or what it used to be. If it was something before the inky puddles.

It coughed and wheezed ink out of it's lungs (Did it have lungs? what are lungs?), it felt a strange thing sinking in it's chest, it heard voices everywhere, (they were not as bad as the puddles but they were still there), and found it was tangled up in a material that it could not identify.

The material was a bunch of long black strands surrounding it, blocking most of it's vision. Out of the corner of it's eyes it could see a thing similar to it's "prison", the weird thing was thicker than the strands, but also shorter than them.

As it knew nothing about the prison it found itself in, it panicked. It desperately tried to rip and claw it's way to freedom but doing so hurt it terribly! It tugged the long thin strands, and it's head started to hurt. It tugged the short thick thing, and it's spine hurt. Some strands of it's prison broke, and as they did so, it felt sharp pains on it's head! It stopped, not because it wanted to submit to it's prison, but because it hurt too much to escape that way.

Without anything better to do than to just sit down and listen, it focused it's attention on what the voices were saying.

" _What's wrong with the prophet?_ "

" _Did he become a Searcher again?_ "

" _No, Searchers don't have legs, or... whatever that stuff on his head is._ "

" _Is he a lost one like us now? he has eyes._ "

" _I Don't think he's a lost one either, looks more like a silhouette of himself but with a bushy tail._ "

" _So that's what he is then!_ " the voice sounded like it realized something. " _He's a silhouette!_ "

" _No... I meant_ -" the voice audibly sighed.

Things slowly started to make more sense as memories came back to it- Him. He was the prophet, he was the closest thing the village had to a leader, he served the ink demon, he felt... weird about the fact he served the Ink Demon but he couldn't put his finger on why he felt weird.

He stood up and brushed the hair out of his face before putting his mask back on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something unusual:

*OBJECTIVE: START THE MORNING SERMON.

*TIP: RING THE CHURCH BELL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anybody's wondering, Sammy's tail is an undocked sheep's tail.


	2. Bellwether of his flock

The chimes of the church bell echoed throughout the lower levels of the studio as Lost ones and Searchers gathered for the daily sermon, whispering among themselves in shushed voices while they waited for their prophet to speak. He didn't know if they thought he couldn't hear them or knew that he could and just didn't care.

" _Is it just me or does he have a tail?_ "

" _.͝r̵e̸͞h̵̨t͟i͜e̛͜ ͘͜ķ̷ņ̷i͞ e̡h͏̵t̡̢͜ m̢o̸͟rf͏ ͠e̴͢͞e͏r̕͢f͜ ̷to͠n̷͜ s̕҉i͏ ̸͡eh͟͞ sa ̷m̵͝i̛h ̕er̴of҉e̷̵b̡͢ ę̛l̸bm̴u̶͡h̡͠ ̵̨y͟͏ąts̵̢ o̸͠ţ̨ ̧̨̕r̸̡̕eḑni̸͡m̷er̛ ̧̛a s̨̢a͜҉ ̛͜l̸͘i͏̶͠a͢t͠ ̷ą͞ ̶m̛͝͞i̢h ̛͜n͜͏e̢v͏i͘g̕ ҉ơsļ̵̷a͟҉ ͘s̕a͟h͝ e͝h͏͘ ̶̛,͠m̧͜r̷ơf ͜ek̢͢҉iļ̡-̡n̷a͏m͟͞u̶̴͡h҉̛ ̧e̢r̨͏͢o̶m̶͟͏ ̛͜a͡ ̷̡͠h̢t̢̕į̷͞w͢͠ ̕̕͝m̶i͠h͡ ̧͘d͜e̡͘ss̵̨e̷͟lb̨͜ ̴s͢҉̕a̶͝h҉ ͘͘ḑr̶o̶̢͢L ̛͢r̸u͠͝o̴̢ ̛e͢͠li͢͞h͠w͘ ͟e͘k͡i̸l͡ ͜s҉͠k̴͠o͏ol͘ ̶̷t̡͏͝į̛҉ ̵,̨uo͡y ̷͘ts͝u̷͝j̸̧ ̵͘̕t̡͘͠o̢͝͠N̴͡_ " (Not just you, it looks like while our Lord has blessed him with a more human-like form, he has also given him a tail as a reminder to stay humble before him as he is not free from the ink either.)

" _What will today's sermon be about? Will there even BE a sermon today?_ "

" _?̧̡͝n͜i̡̢̛ ̴̕͠g̷̸n̴͢͢i̸̡̧w҉͠a̢r̛d ͞҉s̨a̷͜w̛ e̴͞h̸͠ ̢͜͠gn̡i̛͢h̶̴t̕͏ ̛e̴̛͜h͞t̶͘͟ ̶̨ht̡i͢w̧͡ ͢o͞d o̷t ͟g̡͝nih̢͘t̷̷͠y̨n͜a̸ ͡e̶v͞a͏̶̧h̷͏͢ ̸͢ļ͜l̡͘͜i̢w̶ ̨͘͝n̨͡o̡͜m҉r͡e̸̡͘s҉ s̢̢̛i͏h̸͠t̸ kn̨i̧͜h҉t̡ u̢o̴y̴͠҉ ҉̡o̶D̴͡_ " (Do you think this sermon will have anything to do with the thing he was drawing in?)

" _.҉͘p̴͜͢u͢ ̴͡ti͡ ̨͡gn̷i̸̢r̵̡͝b̷ ̢d̢͠n͏a ͘͜͠k̨͡o̧͞ơ̢b̛h͢ç̵͘t͠ę͟k͡͡s̷ ͘͞tah̴̸͞t b̢ąr̵g͏͟ ̸̸d'͏e̴ḩ̵ ̸,̴͟d͡i̸͝d t̕͢͢i͏̡ ̕͟f͘͡͏i ͞,o͘N͢_ " (No, if it did, he'd grab that sketchbook and bring it up.)

" _Is his tail soft? it looks soft, I wanna touch it so badly..._ "

" _Do you have a death wish? Don't touch the tail!_ "

" _I can dream._ "

Sammy felt nervous and guilty about putting himself on the spot before the inky crowd.

A few of his memories returned, enough for him to piece together what he is now, who he worships, and a vague notion of what he used to be. But the memories he had didn't explain why he was supposedly so devoted to a god that saw him and the flock before him as nothing more than playthings.

In fact, every positive memory of the ink demon he had was matched with a negative memory about the demon, the two wildly conflicting memories of complete adoration of his 'Lord' and completely despising the grinning demon had cancelled each other out leaving the prophet feeling bizarrely and uncomfortably neutral about him. It was not a neutrality of being room temperature, but instead a neutrality of being burning hot and freezing cold at the exact same time.

However, even just thinking about mere neutrality about the grinning demon in the church dedicated to him made the false prophet feel dirty in ways he couldn't describe while standing outside the small hovel of a place of worship. Thankfully, what he didn't feel that same feeling about the flock gathered outside his door, he knew that he liked them and he knew that he wanted to give them hope.

He took a deep breath as he thought a phrase to himself before beginning the sermon.

_'It's okay, you can do this, they're not here for the Ink Demon, they're here because they want hope.'_

He spoke sweet words that almost felt like lies when they left his lips, but at the same time, felt all too real. Perhaps that was him just wanting them to be real, or something else, a faded memory? He didn't know. He spoke of the virtues of the flock before them, their endurance, their resourcefulness, their teamwork skills... He spoke of the silver linings that the ink gives that most of them ignore, using them as evidence that while their situation is bad, it's not the inescapable constant agony that they believe it is. As he spoke, he felt a strange sense of familiarity, in spite of the fact that this sermon was so "Different" than his other ones.

After the sermon, the 'objective' thing in the corner of his eye came back up, was crossed out, and replaced by a new objective. 

*OBJECTIVE: GET THE SKETCHBOOK BACK

*TIP: TALK TO THE LOST ONES

Most of his flock left satisfied with what he told them during the sermon, but a few of them stayed in the area. As one of them approached his side, he figured that this one must be who the 'objective' was talking about.

" _Prophet, I think I understand what you're saying about Heaven and Hell... That even if we're in Hell, we can still go to Heaven?_ "

"You're sound like you're close, my Sheep, but I don't think we're on the same page. Yes we are all in Hell, but we can't go to heaven no matter what. Nobody goes to heaven because heaven is already full, the rapture has already happened. Its gates are forever locked to the rest of us even after the end of time. However Hell simply isn't eternal damnation, it has much more similarities to earth. Hell can be scary in ways similar to earth, and it can be scary in ways only known to Hell itself, but Hell can be carved into a paradise as long as the souls within it know how to show mercy to themselves and each other."

" _So... a paradise in the afterlife exists for us not as a place we can reach, but as the bonds we have between each other and what we make with them?_ "

"Yes!" Sammy excitedly clapped as his sheep now understood. "That is exactly it, my Sheep. Our own little town is an example of a rough draft of such a paradise, we still have a long ways to go... but we are getting there."

" _I see... I understand now, ...I... liked this sermon a lot more than the Ink Demon ones._ "

The Lost one immediately flinched back as soon as she said those words as if acid was thrown on her.

"My Sheep?" Sammy reached for the Lost one out of concern "What's wrong?"

" _F-forgive me Prophet!_ " The Lost one fell down on her knees, her hands clenched tightly together as if her fingers would fall off otherwise " _I-I didn't mean to speak such blasphemy in your own church! I... I-it just kinda came out!_ "

The Lost one continued to sob and shake fearfully in her prophet's presence, until Sammy pulled her up to her feet and reassuringly hugged her.

"Shh, Shh, It's okay my Sheep, you're okay. I am not mad at you."

" _Y-you're not?_ "

"I already know and understand that not everyone among my flock believes what I'm saying, I know that there are nonbelievers among the believers who are here for their own reasons. But there is no harm in having second thoughts. As long as the nonbelievers and the believers do not tear each other apart, sheep are sheep I don't see why they can't join the flock."

As the two broke from the hug, Sammy could almost swear that the Lost one looked a little bit less skeletal and drippy.

" _Thank you Sammy..._ " The Lost one wiped the pooling tears from her eyes " _Heh, I-It's almost funny... Back when we were coworkers, I vividly remembered fearing and hating you to the point that there was a time where all I'd do was warn others when you entered rooms and then after everything went sour, even though I never saw you until I stumbled on your sanctuary, I still feared you more than I did the Ink Demon, the Projectionist, the Fallen Angel, the Machine, and the Dark Puddles combined. But now, you're the one I- we all look up to for hope and guidance._ "

"Interesting... I suppose that's just the nature of Hell." Sammy mused more to himself than his Sheep. "Either you stay dead indistinguishable from the dirt; cold and hard, or you can grow into something else."

" _That's one way to see it, but I guess either I was wrong about you, or you're just the type of person who's best only truly comes out in the bleakest of times... ...or both._ "

"In all fairness, I do know that I did 'let myself go' before the studio went down, ...in more ways than just my looks."

The two shared a chuckle over reminiscing over the past before Sammy thought of something. If he were a cartoon character, he would have had a light bulb pop up over his head as he recalled an important thing about what his sheep said.

"My Sheep, you said we were coworkers, correct? I remember that I was the Music Director, do you remember what you were?"

" _I played the violin in the music department... I think..._ "

"Yes... back then I vaguely remember a violinist who always said "He's Coming!" as I entered... ...Is your name "Olivia" by chance? Olivia Wight?"

" _My name.._." The Lost one mulled it over for a few seconds before her eyes lit up in realization. " _Yes! It was Olivia Wight!_ That's who I am! I'm the violinist!"

"I think I know where your old violin is! Do you think if I brought it down here it would help you with your memories?"

"You'd really do that for me? but why?"

"I'm heading up to the music department anyways, might as well do it while I'm there."

"I see, thank you Sammy, good luck."

He saw something out of the corner of his eye again;

*SIDE QUEST: SONG OF THE OLIVE BRANCH

*TIP: AVOID THE INK DEMON WHILE LOOKING FOR OLIVIA'S VIOLIN.

Okay, as the objective didn't change, she was probably not who he was supposed to talk to... but hey, he might as well do it. This time, he kept his eyes peeled for a Lost one who was looking through a sketchbook. And in the small area, he found him pretty quickly as the Lost one would occasionally laugh loudly as he looked through the book.

" _Oh hey Sammy, heard you're going up again._ " He glanced up from the filled in sketchbook. " _Another supply run or worship related run?_ "

"Most likely both, need anything while I'm up?"

" _Nah, I'm good._ "

He flipped the page of the sketchbook and looked through it some more.

"Are you sure you don't want me to find you another book while I'm there?" The masked man deadpanned with a slightly more irritated tone than he intended.

" _Oh! you probably mean you want this sketchbook back..._ " he sheepishly handed the said sketchbook to Sammy. " _Um yeah, that would be great, thanks..._ "

"Thank you for returning this my Sheep."

" _Hey, before you go, the stuff you put on the black pages... what does it all mean?_ "

"I'm not sure about what you're talking about."

" _Here, look:_ "

The Lost one flipped the pages to the end of the book and sure enough, there were pitch black pages among the sketchbook with their contents written in some kind of white ink. The contents themselves appeared to be ritualistic circles, something that looked like model sheets for a long-haired character drawn in a similar art style to the angels in the studio, expression sheets for the said character which revealed that the character expressed himself not with his own face, but with a supply of infinite masks. All notes written in the black pages seemed to be in a language made up of strange symbols.

" _You got up, wrote all of this down, and then you went back inside the church and collapsed into the dark puddles. Do you still remember what any of this means?_ "

Sammy looked closely at the character notes, and he could swear that the strange symbols made sense to him.

📫︎☞︎✌︎✞︎⚐︎☼︎✋︎❄︎☜︎ ☞︎⚐︎⚐︎👎︎ ✋︎💧︎ 💧︎🕈︎☜︎☜︎❄︎ -FAVORITE FOOD IS SWEET

📫︎☞︎✌︎✞︎⚐︎☼︎✋︎❄︎☜︎ 👌︎☹︎⚐︎⚐︎👎︎ ❄︎✡︎🏱︎☜︎ ✋︎💧︎ 👍︎ -FAVORITE BLOOD TYPE IS C

📫︎☞︎✌︎✞︎⚐︎☼︎✋︎❄︎☜︎ 👍︎⚐︎☹︎⚐︎☼︎ ✋︎💧︎ ☼︎☜︎👎︎ -FAVORITE COLOR IS RED

Wait a minute, this seemed familiar to him as well... A darkness far darker than the dark puddles, but also, so much quieter, there were only two voices; his own and 🕈︎📬︎ 👎︎📬︎ ☝︎ ✌︎ 💧︎ ❄︎ ☜︎ ☼︎

"This is the vessel..."

" _Vessel?_ "

"My sheep, I'm afraid I have to go to the music department imminently, I have to take care of something important."

" _O-okay..._ "

*OBJECTIVE: RETRACE YOUR STEPS

*TIP: GO TO THE UPPER LEVELS OF THE STUDIO

* * *

Sammy felt like there used to be a giant pair of claws trying to pry his soul apart and now they were gone, leaving his soul alone to rest as he sang to himself to liven up his trip.

" _The devil's here, Yes I've seen his face. This reckoning's for the sinners, stick with me, it's safe. for each of us holds a key to open Eden's_ _gates Just like the father told you, all you need to keep is faith_ "

He didn't know where the song he sang came from or where he had heard it before, if he even heard it before at all. However, he knew that he did not make that song. He only found the words that fit with his songs once in a blue moon, which was the reason why Jack got hired in the first place.

" _The nonbelievers sowed their seeds and all they'll reap is flames, Judgement's coming and my god will set me free from chains, make your confessions pay your penance in my sweet embrace, I'll shake my people from their sleep so they can see his grace._ "

He paused for a moment as the tone and speed of the singer changed, was this a duet? Now he felt silly for singing it by himself. Oh well, at least he was the only one listening to him at this point. He just hummed the other person's lines. ...My, what an aggressive duet this was, a 'hero' singing against a 'villain'. He imagined Tom as the other singer as he hummed in a deeper tone. While he knew the wolf was mute, he knew that if he could speak (or in this case, sing), he'd most definitely speak nothing but insults about his and his flock's faith.

" _Who found you while you were lost? When blind, who helped you see? 'Cuz I'm the shepherd of this flock, I guide my righteous sheep~ Of your sins I'll see you washed, then I'll set your soul free, the word of god is one you trust, so thank god he speaks through me!_ "

The aggressive "Hero"'s voice returned again, Sammy decided to stop singing and just let the rest of the song play out in his head as he trekked up the vents into the higher levels of the studio.

\-----

He went too high up, this wasn't the music department! It looked more like where the artists would draw the cartoons-

**"Heeeeeeeeeyyyy Sammy! Sam-a-Lamb, the Jamming' music man, my main man Sam!"**

The voice of the Ink Demon while 'friendly', made him freeze to his very core in fear, and also made butterflies in his stomach. The creature putting his arm around his shoulders made him want to run away, but it also made him want to embrace his Lord.

**"So about today's sermon... it wasn't half bad, pretty unusual and a ^@%!-ton more gruesome than the 'hopeful' speech slop you normally feed these guys, but I've got an eensy-teensy little problem with the morning church spiel... _There wasn't enough me in it._ "**

"What do you mean, my lord?" He tried to sound completely indifferent, to not let it show just how terrified or awed he was. "What bothered you so much about it?"

**"You know EXACTLY what I mean, Lawrence! You didn't even say my name once in the entire thing!"**

"Yes, because..." he racked his mind for an excuse or explanation that the demon would accept "...your presence in today's sermon was metaphorical! Much like how we almost never see you in our daily lives and yet you impact them all in all sorts of ways, today's sermon didn't mention you by name once, and yet, if my sheep never knew of you, it would not make a lick of sense to them."

**"** _**Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm......** _ **Okay, that makes sense ( _I guess..._ ) But I'm keeping an eye on you! I already got into hot water on your behalf recently and I am NOT in the mood to fish you out of your own consequences anytime soon!"**

"I-I understand your message completely my lord, In fact, I'll write a hymn in your honor right now!"

**"It had better be good!"**

"But of course my lord, only the best for you!"

He locked himself in the tiny closet of his old office and began to write, the burning-cold sensation of suffocating love and suffocating hatred plaguing him with every word he wrote down. Thankfully, both sides seemed to be pleased with the finished project, as it was both a hymn of adoration, and a cry for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is 'Shepherd of this flock' by JT Music


	3. Seeing double trouble

The man's doubts of his lord and his guilt of having doubts were heavy on his mind as he went back into the vents and came out in his sanctuary. His thoughts felt less like he was one person and more like two people were arguing within him.

_"Why do you reject our Lord so heavily? He is merciful to us, and he will set us free."_

_"Free us from what?! He doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone but himself! Nobody says anything like that unless they're lying."_

_"NO! HE WILL FREE US FROM THE INKY DARK ABYSS WE CALL A BODY! He has already shown us how to escape the studio itself, we know every exit in the building because of his grace."_

_"Yes, the ink we live in and the voices that we hear because of it suck balls. No, we shouldn't worship the guy who dragged us into this mess in the first place!"_

_"And what do YOU propose we do?! abandon our Lord and our flock?"_

_"If we know how to escape, why don't we bring our flock out? you said it yourself we know where every exit is and that there's nonbelievers in our flock. Why not let them out to enjoy the outside world for a while?"_

_"What do you think will happen if we do that?"_

_"They'll be happy to finally be out of this nightmare studio?"_

_"For a little bit, and what do you think will happen when we get discovered by human beings? human beings who both of us KNOW will reject anything and everything that is different from themselves. Human beings who would gladly crush us to death like insects if they knew of our inky forms."  
_

_"..."_

_"Exactly my point, even if we don't like him, we need to be patient and serve him. He is the only one powerful enough to free us from our prisons."_

_"And what if he doesn't? What if he just dangles the hope of freedom in front of our faces and never follows through with it because it's more convenient for him to keep an obedient, sheep-like SLAVE at his beck and call than it is for him to keep his 'word'?"_

_"What if you're just here to test my faith in him? what if you're just a parasite standing in the way of freedom?"_

The non-prophet within the prophet wanted to retort, but the pair's argument was cut short by something blinking in their vision, a warning accompanied by a what looked to be the image of two vials; one with a dropping amount of blue liquid inside it, the other had a rising level of red liquid.

*SANITY LOW *URGE TO KILL HIGH

That did not look good.

He tried to pull himself together and clear his thoughts, it was hard to pull himself together when the two halves of the one whole he was supposed to be were both so different and fully formed on their own. If he didn't know any better, he'd assume that the two were never a complete being in the first place.

"deep breaths..."

_"I wont let myself submit to your tyrant"_

_"I won't let you lead my sheep to the slaughter"_

**"Just stay calm..."**

_"Why won't you see reason?"_

_"Why won't YOU see that your 'reason' is dangerous?"_

**_"I just need to-"_ **

_"Can't you see he's just using you?! He himself said that he wanted to drive away anyone and everyone that could help us! Remember what we did to Buddy because of him? HE SAVED OUR LIFE AND WE HURT HIM!"_

_"Can't you see that your recklessness will kill us all?! He wouldn't do something like that without a good reason! And yes, what we did to Buddy WAS terrible, that's why **I** tried to make amends with him as best I could!"_

**_"Shut up..."_ **

_"By getting him into your cult? That was surely admirable of you, taking advantage of some poor sorry bastard who's only sin was being in the wrong place at the wrong time..."_

_"I apologized to him when I got the chance! I do my best to keep his mother and his grandfather safe! I risked my life to save him from the angel on multiple occasions, even if it did get me on her bad side... we trade supplies whenever it's necessary, hell, he even SUMMONS me when he's lonely sometimes! ...I still don't know if he ever truly forgave me or if he just tolerates me out of a necessity for survival, but at least I'm **trying** to make things right! When was the last time YOU ever reached out to somebody that you hurt?!"_

**_"CAN'T YOU SEE THAT ALL YOU'RE DOING IS MAKING THIS WORSE?!"_ **

Both of them didn't know if the other one shouted that, or if there was something else in there, but the accusing shout did manage to shut both of them up. Finally. Now with his mind clear, he could try to keep himself together.

_"Let's"_

_"Just"_

_"Focus"_

_"On"_

_"The"_

_"Task"_

_"At"_

_"Hand."_

~~They~~ He agreed with himself as he pulled out the sketchbook. He knew that the objective said 'retrace your steps', the last objective featured the sketchbook, and that the vessel was in it (wait, what was the vessel? why is it important?), so clearly it was of great importance. He sat down by the desk in his sanctuary and began to read it to see what to do next. And maybe also looked through the normal pages of the book to see what was so funny about it.

The pages that he knew he didn't draw in were rarely funny to him, they mostly just gave Sammy bittersweet feelings of familiarity and homesickness.

He could recognize the characters in the sketchbook, some were more familiar to him than others but he could recognize almost all of them as his coworkers based on their jobs and how they interacted with each other. He knew exactly which character was meant to represent himself; the birdlike sheepish music director with a love of music and a knack for audio-based pranks. He knew he used to work in here as a music director, but those days felt like a lifetime ago.

In foresight, he knew that he shouldn't be surprised that his character behaved so differently to how he behaves now. He knew that he had changed a lot between the different times, he internally saw himself as friendlier, less hot-headed, more empathetic, and wiser than how he used to be. (Even if he was a lot more forgetful.) He knew that others saw him as just a shell of his former self, but looking at the character that was clearly meant to resemble him and how he acted with others really hit him over the head with just how drastically he changed.

The chimera that was meant to be him was by no means a villain.

Sure, he was as stubborn as an old mule, almost always grumpy, had a sarcastic sense of humor, always seemed tired, and was very intimidating (well, intimidating by the book's standards. In reality, the ~~faun's?~~ ~~siren's?~~ music director's design was too cute to ever be considered scary unless tampered with.)

But he also seemed to have a soft spot and cared about his coworkers in ways that he intentionally hid from sight and loudly vocally denied every time the mere notion of him being nice was brought up. _"No Johnny, I didn't see who left a box of cupcakes from that fancy bakery you like on your organ, just get back to work. *fake coughing* ~~and happy birthday.~~ "_

At first, he thought that he'd be the 'straight man' to the chaos due to his personality but it looked more like he either took turns with other characters on being the voice of reason, or was simply a red herring straight man.

He didn't mind that he had these traits and role, but he saw how his character interacted with Jack and "Susabell Seraphim". The sewer rat and the sheepish songbird played off each other beautifully, most of the scenes between the two were mostly music related jokes and puns and that special type of playful bickering that can only exist between lifelong friends. Although a few of the scenes did allude to them being something _other_ than just friends.

As for the angel and the demon...

One would think that the eons old rivalry between the two species would make them rivals as well, but they weren't. They definitely poked fun at it; calling themselves "9 to 5 friends and 5 to 9 sworn enemies", and things of the like but never following through on the 'eternal war' thing. The singing seraph's bubbly, high-energy personality, sweet voice, and overall enthusiasm for life seemed to bring happiness to the music directing demon (if the little hearts that would pop up over his head and get stuffed into either his hat or his waistcoat when he knew she was looking at him was anything to go off by.) and it turn, it looked like the Angel was captivated by the Demon's comedic wit, musical talent, and ~~warm wool and fluffy feathers~~ animalistic charm.

It made him want to break down and cry. He didn't know if these were memories that were slightly abstracted by its cartoony retelling or if they were completely fabricated but he missed this, he couldn't believe how easy it was for the ink to make him forget all of it.

He missed the days when he wouldn't dread going to work at Joey Drew Studios, he missed the few friendships he had managed to grow between some of his coworkers, he missed being more than just the studio's 'high-functioning alcoholic crackhead', he missed Susie and the way her smile would light up the music department even on it's darkest days, he missed Jack and how well the two clicked together in spite of their many obvious differences, he missed Wally in spite of how easily he could irritate him, he missed Norman and the long, bizarre discussions with the man in the odd hours of the night shifts they shared, he missed Henry-

...Who was Henry?

Wait a minute, he knew who Henry was! He was an animator at the studio and- ...and... ........... _and_..... _?_....... ...and he didn't remember. He could swear he was *THIS* close to remembering and then his memory abandoned him.

He 'checked' the vials again, the blue vial went up put only just a smudge while the red vial was almost completely empty.

*YOUR URGE TO KILL HAS LESSENED.

That was good, but what about his sanity? surely the way to save it would lie in the black pages, right?

Flipping through those pages of the book was a strange experience. He was looking at things written in a language that he swear he never knew ~~why was it so familiar to him?~~ He was looking at symbols and rituals, he recognized the ritual circle drawn on one of the pages (How couldn't he? he painted that circle everywhere on this floor! Hell, he was standing in it right now!), but he didn't know why the model sheets of the vessel were in there.

"Wait a minute... a transmutation circle, model sheets, and the vessel shares my name..."

Vaguely remembering something, he shut the sketchbook and went to a different area of the music department. This area had speakers set up around the room, wooden supports one could tie someone to, and a small room adjacent to it. It was the set-up for the ritual that would set him free from his inky body, all he was missing was the sacrifice.

In this smaller room; there was a microphone, a desk in the corner, a transmutation circle and some candles on the floor, and model sheets on the desk. Specifically, model sheets for Bendy that were rejected by Joey because-

"He has a tail in these! That's why _I_ got a tail last time!" His current tail wagged in excitement as he put the pieces together.

Last time... yes! he could remember! he's been through this before! Almost every time he performed this ritual it had ended poorly and now he knew why: because he wasn't preforming it correctly! Of course... that's why his Lord always went after him instead of the sacrifice, to punish him for botching the spell!

And the one time he got closer than ever to correctly preforming the ritual... well, a lot of things were happening as he lost consciousness but one of the things he swore he could feel was the sensation of paper sinking into his inky body as his Lord's essence started to dissolve him.

Armed with the knowledge on how to properly preform the ritual, he tore every model sheet for the vessel he could find out of the sketchbook and put it in the middle of the circle, lit the candles, the spell started to flare up, its energy filling the area and overwhelming the prophet and as he approached it... he froze up.

_"We need to get the sacrifice."_

_"Why? we don't need him."_

_"Of course we do! how will our Lord have the strength to preform the spell without the sheep?!"_

_"The same way he did last time! Did he EVER go after... what's his face? Look, my mind's turning into melted butter as we speak and our body is already falling apart just by being NEAR this thing! step into it and lets get this over with already."_

_"...You're trying to do what you pulled last time aren't you?"_

_"What?! I don't even know what I did! One minute, I don't even know if I exist or not, the next, for the briefest of moments, I was you, and then, I was me again, except I was also Bendy the goddamned dancing demon."_

_"Don't try to deceive me again, Blasphemer! I know how much you hate my Lord! I wouldn't put it past you to try to destroy his plans!"_

_"SAMUEL, WE ARE MELTING! GET US INTO THE CIRCLE BEFORE WE'RE NOTHING BUT A PUDDLE!"_

_"You- you're lying to me right now! See?! M-my vision's a bit shaky... but my body's perfectly fine!"_

_"PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T ARGUE WITH ME RIGHT NOW! WE. ARE. IN. GRAVE. DANGER!"_

_"LIAR! I'm fine! we bot-h a_r-e! w-e'r-e fin-e! B-u(t we w_on-t -be w-i_t\h[o\\_/t t|he s)ac(r_if)ice"_

As the two argued, they didn't notice their own hands continue to rip pages out of the sketchbook and put them in the circle, and by the time they finally finished their fight and weakly dragged their way into it, they noticed too late that model sheets for a different character than the vessel were in the circle.

An agonized shriek escaped the quickly falling apart body, flames flared up from the candles and the last thing Samuel felt before blacking out was the alien sensation of his skin hardening and the too-familiar sensation of ink that was probably his organs and bones at one point being ripped out of his body, albeit by magic instead of an angel this time. His muscles felt like they were getting every nerve he had shot with electricity before the sweet sensation of merciful unconsciousness finally took him.

Sampson didn't fare too well either as from his end, supernatural forces beyond human comprehension ripped him out of his own body and he could not only see but feel them molding him into something that didn't even remotely resemble a human being. While wasting his willpower on trying to stay conscious during the process was fruitless, it was the only thing he felt like he could do. The last thought he had in his head before the magic forced him down (Other than the unimaginable agony brought upon him) was 'Fuck, at least Bendy's limbs had human-ish joints what the hell am I gonna do with these legs?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the bright side, at least they won't fight over who gets to control the body anymore.


	4. If you put one of them on the other one's shoulders, they're like 11 feet and something-inches tall.

_Samuel woke up first, of course he did, he didn't foolishly fight the will of his Lord but instead let Him mold his body into whatever form he would take, whether it would be a blessing for preforming a better version of the ritual, or a curse for messing it up again._

_Looking at his surroundings, it seemed like he wasn't in the ritual room he passed out in, but instead a small space with a chair, a shelf with a bible and Joey's book 'The Illusion of Life', and some kind of grate-window thing that was covered up on the other side by a curtain. then a violent choked sob caught him off guard._

_Another sob came from the other side before the man on the other side forced himself to speak to Sammy._

_"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned..." he sniffled "I know that what I've done to everyone is unforgivable, I-I hurt complete strangers, I hurt my old friends and I hurt my family, I hurt people that I loved and care about" He sobbed as he spoke "I hurt people that never deserved any of what they went through. I'm not asking to be sent to heaven, I know I don't deserve it, but please deliver me from hell to purgatory."_

_Sammy listened to the sinner's confession, his voice sounded familiar to him but he couldn't remember for the life of him where he had heard it before. It clicked to him on where he was as the sinner spoke; he was in the priest's side of a confessional._

_"I beg of you, forgive me for my crimes, and save the souls of my poor murdered beloved and my children." the man broke down crying as Sammy patiently waited for him to pull himself together "And please... also care for the souls of the rest of the lives I have taken. God, I treble with fear as I stare at death once more, and beg for your mercy."_

_Sammy processed what the sinner told him, not just a single murder confession, but several. He felt a lump in his throat and could swear that he KNEW this man! He knew his face, maybe even his name... Yes, he DID know this man! He knew him and his sins, how could he forget when he could feel the phantom pains of the cold metal of his weapon cutting deep into his flesh?_

_But the grief and disgust at his own actions felt raw and fresh in his voice, the horror in his tone was strong, and the crying... Maybe he was speaking to the man after he first realized what he had really done?_ _He thought for a while, wondering what he should say to the sinner, wondering what COULD he say to him._

"I-"

He woke up before he could say anything more to him, the dream cutting him off abruptly.

As he partly expected, when he woke up he had felt weak and hollow inside. Not in the emotional sense, but a physical one. An indescribable emptiness that gnawed at him, a craving, no, a NEED that made him wish to be filled. Desperate for a distraction from the internal void, he focused on his new physical form. He curiously examined every change and difference in his new body that he could see, from the obvious changes to the much more subtle ones that he hadn't found yet.

Looking at his hands, they didn't have the animalistic traits anymore, the talons were gone and in their place were more human-like hands that appeared to be missing the wrinkles that indicated where the joints were as well as the fingernails. Flexing his fingers proved that in spite of their appearance, they could still function like regular hands.

The skin itself was both black and white but not like human skin, literal black and white in a strange jagged patchwork. The patterns on his skin didn't look at all like the splotchy 'cow-hide' skin that he assumed he had (based on vague memories that he could recall) and hid from sight in his teen and adult years. As he touched it, it felt like it was made out of some kind of plastic? Whatever it was, it was pleasantly cool to the touch and smooth, but it was also thick and hard. A far cry from the unforgiving freezing coldness of the ink and how fragile his old body's skin was. But also a far cry from the warmth of his human body and roughness of his skin.

His hair on the other hand... if he could hug it, he would! And it was long enough for him to do that, so he did! He also wrapped and unwrapped it around his arms and fingers, carefully brushing out the tangles that he found with his fingers as he did so. It looked and felt like his old normal dirty-blond hair, hair that desperately needed to be cleaned and properly brushed as it was still heavily matted with ink, but his hair nonetheless. The untamed mane was far longer than how he remembered it, but he couldn't complain, he was just happy it was back.

The formerly ink prophet was so wrapped up in ~~playing with his own hair~~ the important research of his new form that I can assure you he took very seriously, that he didn't notice that the sketchbook lay torn in half and Sampson wasn't in the room at all.

That is until he saw the 'Retrace your steps' objective getting crossed off with the new objective taking it's place.

*OBJECTIVE: HUNT SAMPSON DOWN.

*TIP: YOUR HALF OF THE SKETCHBOOK WILL COME IN HANDY.

"Oh Lord no..."

Samuel picked up the remains of the sketchbook as if he was handling a wounded animal, what was left was mostly black pages with the occasional white page here and there. The black pages... he could read them clearly now!

☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎💧︎ ✌︎☼︎☜︎ 🕆︎☠︎👌︎☜︎☹︎✋︎☜︎✞︎✌︎👌︎☹︎✡︎ 💧︎❄︎☼︎⚐︎☠︎☝︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 🏱︎⚐︎✋︎☠︎❄︎ 🕈︎☟︎☜︎☼︎☜︎ ✋︎❄︎ 🕈︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎👎︎ ❄︎✌︎😐︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ☠︎☜︎✌︎☼︎☹︎✡︎ ☜︎✞︎☜︎☼︎✡︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ☜︎✈︎🕆︎✌︎☹︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ✌︎ 💧︎✋︎☠︎☝︎☹︎☜︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎📬︎ ✡︎☜︎💧︎📪︎ ☠︎☜︎✌︎☼︎☹︎✡︎ ☜︎✞︎☜︎☼︎✡︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎📪︎ ☜︎✞︎☜︎☠︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ⚐︎☞︎ 👌︎⚐︎💧︎💧︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ ✌︎☼︎☜︎ ☠︎☜︎☜︎👎︎☜︎👎︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👌︎☜︎ ☜︎✈︎🕆︎✌︎☹︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎📬︎

(HUMANS ARE UNBELIEVABLY STRONG TO THE POINT WHERE IT WOULD TAKE THE SOULS OF NEARLY EVERY MONSTER TO EQUAL THE POWER OF A SINGLE HUMAN SOUL. YES, NEARLY EVERY MONSTER SOUL, EVEN THE SOULS OF BOSS MONSTERS ARE NEEDED TO BE EQUAL TO THEIR POWER.)

🕈︎✋︎❄︎☟︎ ❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎ ✋︎☠︎ 💣︎✋︎☠︎👎︎📪︎ ✋︎❄︎🕯︎💧︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ ☟︎✌︎☼︎👎︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 💧︎☜︎☜︎ 🕈︎☟︎✡︎ ✋︎❄︎ ⚐︎☠︎☹︎✡︎ ❄︎✌︎😐︎☜︎💧︎ 💧︎☜︎✞︎☜︎☠︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎☜︎💧︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👍︎☼︎☜︎✌︎❄︎☜︎ 💧︎🕆︎👍︎☟︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎☞︎🕆︎☹︎ 💧︎🏱︎☜︎☹︎☹︎💧︎📪︎ ⚐︎☼︎ 🕈︎☟︎✡︎ ✋︎❄︎ ⚐︎☠︎☹︎✡︎ ❄︎✌︎😐︎☜︎💧︎ 💧︎☜︎✞︎☜︎☠︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 💣︎✌︎😐︎☜︎ ✌︎ ☝︎⚐︎👎︎📬︎

(WITH THIS IN MIND, IT'S NOT HARD TO SEE WHY IT ONLY TAKES SEVEN HUMAN MAGES TO CREATE SUCH POWERFUL SPELLS, OR WHY IT ONLY TAKES SEVEN HUMAN SOULS TO MAKE A GOD.)

✋︎❄︎ 🕈︎✌︎💧︎ ⚐︎☠︎👍︎☜︎ 👌︎☜︎☹︎✋︎☜︎✞︎☜︎👎︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎✋︎❄︎✡︎🕯︎💧︎ 🕈︎☜︎✌︎😐︎☠︎☜︎💧︎💧︎☜︎💧︎ 🕈︎☜︎☼︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ 👍︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎👎︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ ✌︎👌︎💧︎⚐︎☼︎👌︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ✌︎💧︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ 👍︎✌︎☠︎📪︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ 👍︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎👎︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ 🕆︎💧︎☜︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎✋︎👍︎📪︎ ✌︎☠︎👎︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ ⚐︎🕈︎☠︎ 💧︎❄︎☼︎☜︎☠︎☝︎❄︎☟︎ ✌︎💧︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ 👎︎⚐︎🕈︎☠︎☞︎✌︎☹︎☹︎📪︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 💧︎⚐︎ 💧︎❄︎☼︎⚐︎☠︎☝︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ 🏱︎☜︎☼︎💧︎✋︎💧︎❄︎ ☜︎✞︎☜︎☠︎ ✌︎☞︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ 👎︎☜︎✌︎❄︎☟︎📪︎ 💣︎✌︎👎︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎💣︎ ✌︎👌︎☹︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👌︎☜︎ ☜︎✌︎💧︎✋︎☹︎✡︎ ✌︎👌︎💧︎⚐︎☼︎👌︎☜︎👎︎ 👌︎✡︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎📬︎ ☟︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎✞︎☜︎☼︎📪︎ ❄︎🕈︎⚐︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎💧︎☜︎ 🏱︎⚐︎✋︎☠︎❄︎💧︎ 🕈︎☜︎☼︎☜︎ ✈︎🕆︎✋︎👍︎😐︎☹︎✡︎ 🏱︎☼︎⚐︎✞︎☜︎☠︎ ☞︎✌︎☹︎💧︎☜︎📬︎

(IT WAS ONCE BELIEVED THAT HUMANITY'S WEAKNESSES WERE THAT THEY COULD NOT ABSORB SOULS AS MONSTERS CAN, THAT THEY COULD NOT USE MAGIC, AND THAT THEIR OWN STRENGTH AS THEIR DOWNFALL, THE POWER OF THEIR SOULS BEING SO STRONG THAT THEY PERSIST EVEN AFTER DEATH, MADE THEM ABLE TO BE EASILY ABSORBED BY MONSTERS. HOWEVER, TWO OF THESE POINTS WERE QUICKLY PROVEN FALSE.)

☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎💧︎📪︎ ✋︎☞︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ 👎︎☜︎☞︎☜︎✌︎❄︎ 👌︎⚐︎💧︎💧︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ ✌︎☠︎👎︎ ✌︎☼︎☜︎ ☞︎✌︎💧︎❄︎ ☜︎☠︎⚐︎🕆︎☝︎☟︎📪︎ 👍︎✌︎☠︎ ✌︎👌︎💧︎⚐︎☼︎👌︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ❄︎⚐︎⚐︎📬︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎💧︎ ✌︎☹︎💧︎⚐︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎ 💣︎✌︎👎︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ ⚐︎🕈︎☠︎ ☞︎⚐︎☼︎💣︎💧︎ ⚐︎☞︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎✋︎👍︎📬︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎✋︎👍︎ ✋︎💧︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ ☹︎✋︎😐︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎✋︎👍︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ 🕆︎💧︎☜︎📪︎ ✋︎❄︎ 👍︎⚐︎💣︎☜︎💧︎ ☞︎☼︎⚐︎💣︎ ☼︎✋︎❄︎🕆︎✌︎☹︎💧︎📪︎ ☞︎☼︎⚐︎💣︎ ✌︎☹︎👍︎☟︎☜︎💣︎✡︎📪︎ ☞︎☼︎⚐︎💣︎ ☝︎⚐︎👎︎💧︎ ✌︎☠︎👎︎ 👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ☜︎✞︎☜︎☠︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎💧︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎💣︎💧︎☜︎☹︎✞︎☜︎💧︎ ☞︎☜︎✌︎☼︎📬︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎ 👎︎✌︎✡︎ ✋︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎ ☠︎☜︎✞︎☜︎☼︎ ☞︎⚐︎🕆︎☠︎👎︎ ✌︎ ☞︎⚐︎☼︎💣︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎📫︎💣︎✌︎👎︎☜︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎✋︎👍︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ☜︎✠︎✋︎💧︎❄︎💧︎ 🕈︎✋︎❄︎☟︎⚐︎🕆︎❄︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 👌︎⚐︎❄︎☟︎ ❄︎☼︎✋︎✌︎☹︎ ✌︎☠︎👎︎ ☜︎☼︎☼︎⚐︎☼︎ ✌︎💧︎ 🕈︎☜︎☹︎☹︎ ✌︎💧︎ ☟︎✋︎☝︎☟︎☹︎✡︎ 👎︎✌︎☠︎☝︎☜︎☼︎⚐︎🕆︎💧︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ✋︎❄︎💧︎ 🕆︎💧︎☜︎☼︎ 🕈︎☟︎☜︎☠︎ ✋︎💣︎🏱︎☼︎⚐︎🏱︎☜︎☼︎☹︎✡︎ 🕆︎💧︎☜︎👎︎📬︎

(HUMAN BEINGS, IF THEY DEFEAT BOSS MONSTERS AND ARE FAST ENOUGH, CAN ABSORB SOULS TOO. HUMAN BEINGS ALSO HAVE MADE THEIR OWN FORMS OF MAGIC. THEIR MAGIC IS NOT LIKE THE MAGIC MONSTERS USE, IT COMES FROM RITUALS, FROM ALCHEMY, FROM GODS AND DARK POWERS THAT EVEN THE HUMANS THEMSELVES FEAR. TO THIS DAY I HAVE NEVER FOUND A FORM OF HUMAN-MADE MAGIC THAT EXISTS WITHOUT BEING BOTH TRIAL AND ERROR AS WELL AS HIGHLY DANGEROUS TO ITS USER WHEN IMPROPERLY USED.)

❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎ 💣︎☜︎✌︎☠︎💧︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎✋︎❄︎✡︎🕯︎💧︎ ⚐︎☠︎☜︎ ✌︎☠︎👎︎ ⚐︎☠︎☹︎✡︎ ❄︎☼︎🕆︎☜︎ 🕈︎☜︎✌︎😐︎☠︎☜︎💧︎💧︎ ✋︎💧︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ ⚐︎🕈︎☠︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎📬︎

(THIS MEANS THAT HUMANITY'S ONE AND ONLY TRUE WEAKNESS IS THEIR OWN POWER.)

✌︎💧︎ ❄︎☜︎☼︎☼︎✋︎☞︎✡︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ ✌︎💧︎ ✋︎❄︎ ✋︎💧︎📪︎ 💧︎⚐︎💣︎☜︎❄︎✋︎💣︎☜︎💧︎ ✋︎ 👍︎✌︎☠︎🕯︎❄︎ ☟︎☜︎☹︎🏱︎ 👌︎🕆︎❄︎ 🕈︎⚐︎☠︎👎︎☜︎☼︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ 🕯︎🕈︎☟︎☜︎☠︎ ✌︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ ❄︎✌︎😐︎☜︎💧︎ ✌︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎📪︎ ✋︎❄︎ 👌︎☜︎👍︎⚐︎💣︎☜︎💧︎ ✌︎ ☟︎⚐︎☼︎☼︎✋︎👌︎☹︎☜︎📪︎ ✡︎☜︎❄︎ ✌︎🕈︎☜︎📫︎✋︎☠︎💧︎🏱︎✋︎☼︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 🕈︎✋︎❄︎☟︎ ✌︎☠︎ 🕆︎☠︎☞︎✌︎❄︎☟︎⚐︎💣︎✌︎👌︎☹︎☜︎ ✌︎💣︎⚐︎🕆︎☠︎❄︎ ⚐︎☞︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎📬︎ 💧︎⚐︎ 🕈︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ☟︎✌︎🏱︎🏱︎☜︎☠︎💧︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎💧︎ 🕈︎☟︎⚐︎ 💣︎✌︎☠︎✌︎☝︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ❄︎✌︎😐︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ⚐︎☞︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎✍︎🕯︎

(AS TERRIFYING AS IT IS, SOMETIMES I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER... 'WHEN A MONSTER TAKES A HUMAN SOUL, IT BECOMES A HORRIBLE, YET AWE-INSPIRING BEING WITH AN UNFATHOMABLE AMOUNT OF POWER. SO WHAT HAPPENS TO HUMANS WHO MANAGE TO TAKE THE SOULS OF MONSTERS?')

✌︎💧︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ☠︎⚐︎☼︎💣︎✌︎☹︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ ✌︎☼︎☜︎ 💧︎⚐︎ 🕈︎☜︎✌︎😐︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ 👌︎☼︎☜︎✌︎😐︎ ✌︎🏱︎✌︎☼︎❄︎ ✌︎☹︎⚐︎☠︎☝︎ 🕈︎✋︎❄︎☟︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✋︎☼︎ 👎︎✡︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 👌︎⚐︎👎︎✋︎☜︎💧︎📪︎ ✌︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 👍︎✌︎☠︎ ⚐︎☠︎☹︎✡︎ ☟︎⚐︎🏱︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ✌︎👌︎💧︎⚐︎☼︎👌︎ ✌︎ 👌︎⚐︎💧︎💧︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎🕯︎💧︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎📬︎

(AS THE SOULS OF NORMAL MONSTERS ARE SO WEAK THAT THEY BREAK APART ALONG WITH THEIR DYING BODIES, A HUMAN CAN ONLY HOPE TO ABSORB A BOSS MONSTER'S SOUL.)

✌︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 💣︎✌︎👎︎☜︎ ⚐︎🕆︎❄︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ✌︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ ✌︎☠︎👎︎ ⚐︎☠︎☜︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎❄︎☼︎⚐︎☠︎☝︎☜︎💧︎❄︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ 😐︎☠︎⚐︎🕈︎☠︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👌︎⚐︎❄︎☟︎ ⚐︎🕆︎☼︎ 😐︎✋︎☠︎👎︎💧︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ ✌︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ 😐︎☠︎⚐︎🕈︎💧︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 🕈︎✌︎✡︎💧︎ ⚐︎☞︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎✋︎👍︎ 👌︎🕆︎❄︎ 👍︎✌︎☠︎ ⚐︎☠︎☹︎✡︎ ✌︎👍︎☟︎✋︎☜︎✞︎☜︎ 🕆︎💧︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ ✋︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☼︎⚐︎🕆︎☝︎☟︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎ 💣︎☜︎✌︎☠︎💧︎📬︎📬︎📬︎

(A BEING MADE OUT OF A HUMAN AND ONE OF THE STRONGEST MONSTERS KNOWN TO BOTH OUR KINDS... A BEING THAT KNOWS THE WAYS OF MAGIC BUT CAN ONLY ACHIEVE USING IT THROUGH HUMAN MEANS...)

💣︎✌︎✡︎👌︎☜︎ ☟︎🕆︎💣︎✌︎☠︎💧︎ ✋︎☠︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💣︎⚐︎👎︎☜︎☼︎☠︎ ✌︎☝︎☜︎ 🏱︎🕆︎☼︎🏱︎⚐︎💧︎☜︎☹︎✡︎ ✌︎✞︎⚐︎✋︎👎︎ ❄︎✌︎😐︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎💧︎ ⚐︎☞︎ 💣︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💧︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ ⚐︎🕆︎❄︎ ⚐︎☞︎ ☝︎⚐︎⚐︎👎︎ 🕈︎✋︎☹︎☹︎📪︎ 👌︎🕆︎❄︎ 👌︎☜︎👍︎✌︎🕆︎💧︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ ❄︎⚐︎⚐︎ ☞︎☜︎✌︎☼︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎ ⚐︎☞︎ 💧︎🕆︎👍︎☟︎ ✌︎ 👌︎☜︎✋︎☠︎☝︎🕯︎💧︎ 👍︎☼︎☜︎✌︎❄︎✋︎⚐︎☠︎📬︎ 

(MAYBE HUMANS IN THE MODERN AGE PURPOSELY AVOID TAKING THE SOULS OF MONSTERS NOT OUT OF GOOD WILL, BUT BECAUSE THEY TOO FEAR THE POWER OF SUCH A BEING'S CREATION.)

Well, he didn't know what any of that had to do with finding Sampson, but the information wasn't useless! (Although he wished it didn't take the sketchbook getting ruined to learn this.) The prophet now understood why his Lord wanted him to get Him so many souls, he now understood why he hadn't set them free yet, he... he now understood the emptiness he felt and why his form was called 'The Vessel'.

He now understood that the reason why He didn't take his soul when he had first died for Him was because the other six sacrifices were not present.

With perseverance shining in his eyes, he left in search for his missing parasite.

* * *

Sampson woke up first, of course he did, he was a spiteful son of a bitch who wouldn't stay down for the count no matter who or what tried to keep him down. But that didn't mean that he liked getting back up afterwards.

He groaned when he looked down at his new sheep legs that he could already tell would be a pain to learn how to walk with. No need for him to hunt down a mirror, he already knew that he looked exactly like the chimera demon in the sketchbook. It was one thing to be reduced to a fraction of your former size, it was another to get a brand new bone structure that only mythical creatures could function with. And it was bullshit to have to deal with _both_ problems at the same time.

Whelp, he wouldn't be getting himself or anyone else out of this nightmare studio by moping on the floor with an unconscious cartoon-worshiping lunatic. Using the desk for balance, he peeled himself off of the floor, his legs shaking like a newborn foal's as he gripped the desk tighter, internally confirming his unlucky guess that he had lost a full two feet of height as his legs steadied themselves.

"It's okay, Sammy... you got this..." He took one ...arm? ...wing? Someone was going to have a field day figuring out what the fuck his anatomy was, but it wouldn't be him. He took one limb that was currently connected to his torso off of the desk to help him get used to balancing on his own two legs. As he didn't seem to stumble as he did so, he took back his other limb and took a single step- " _OH FUCK ME!_ "

He tripped over his own goddamned fuck-up sheep legs like some kind of dumbass, falling face-first to the floor and getting his beak stuck in a hole in the floorboards. The former music director let out an irritated sigh as he pulled himself out of the floor with a cartoonish *pop* signifying his freedom.

"Well, that didn't work... but second time's the charm, right?" As he wasn't going to give up just like that, he picked himself back up and his legs wobbled violently. " _NOT AGAIN!_ " He squeezed his eyes shut tight and braced himself for impact.

. . .

Why was his back pressing against something when he knew he'd fall forward?

Cautiously opening one eye, he saw that the floor was actually farther away from him now. "But how?" Wait a minute... he was flapping his wings! "HOLY SHIT, I CAN FLY?!" He looked at his wings in shock, then realized he should've flown down first before doing that as he fell to the floor again. But on the plus side, it would be the last time he'd do it as him knowing that he can fly would make moving without falling easier. 

He saw stars and music notes circling his head as he got up again, and a new objective in the corner of his eye.

*OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE THE OTHER RITUAL.

*TIP: YOUR HALF OF THE SKETCHBOOK WILL COME IN HANDY.

Knowing exactly where and what the 'other ritual' was and how to complete it, Sampson took half of the notebook and fluttered out of the failed ritual room, leaving behind a few feathers as he flew the coop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, there's an old man in a bathrobe who is both grinding his teeth in frustration and shaking in fear at what's to come.


	5. Hide and seek between demons (it's less exciting than it sounds)

For Sampson, his new form was both a dream and a nightmare come true.

Even though he was clumsier due to not being used to his limbs and body, he was still a lot faster and more agile than possibly any creature in the entire studio. That was a feat that wasn't that hard to clear as the only monsters who weren't plagued by their own mangled, broken, and or warped bodies were the false angels and the Borises, but a blessed advantage nonetheless.

But he was also small and vulnerable. The Ink Demon's mere presence reminded him of that fact too well.

**"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaammy, Sam-a-lamb, come out, come out, wherever you are! _I know you're somewhere in here Sampson, I can hear your wings when you fly and your hooves when you run. Come on out already! I just wanna talk..._ "**

The former music director watched out the window in anticipation as he internally prayed that the demon would leave soon. The noise being made by the pump switch drove him crazy back then, and it STILL drove him crazy now!

*SANITY LOW

_"Yes, I **know** that, shut up"_

*SANITY LOW

The vial blinked rapidly.

*SANITY LOW

 _"Please stop, you're going to give me away!"_ The songbird pleaded to the inanimate object that technically didn't exist in the first place.

*SANITY LOW

_"Please! I'm begging you!"_

**"Oh _there_ you are!"**

He shuddered from underneath his old desk as the demon passed out of his sight, keeping one wing over his beak and the other wing pressed against his chest in the hopes it would slow his rapid heartbeat down.

His blood turned into ice as he heard the Ink Demon unlocking a door and opening it.

 **"Well, gosh! He's not in his hovel, he's not in his sanctuary, he's not in the closet, I can't find him anywhere! Wait- oh yeah the walls!"** The demon snapped his fingers **"I guess I'd better check the insides of the walls for him!"**

He choked back a sigh of relief as he watched the demon's ink fade away from his hiding place and felt his heart beat slow down.

*SANITY LOW

Now that brought him to a new dilemma; he knew that tone of voice when the demon said that, it was a "I'm only saying this to make my prey lower its guard enough to come out of its hiding spot" tone of voice that he had heard a million times. If he left his hiding spot _now_ the demon would hear him and catch him immediately.

*SANITY LOW

But the longer he stayed, the longer the sound of that infernal pump switch gnawed away at his mind.

*SANITY LOW

 _"Fuck you Thomas Conner..."_ He muttered underneath his breath. _"If I'm lucky and survive long enough to see you again, I'm going to kick you where the sun don't shine as hard as I possibly can."_

*SANITY LOW

With the blue liquid in the blinking vial getting lower and lower, he felt crushed between a rock and a hard place. Although he knew that leaving his office would mean instant death, he _knew_ what death felt like down here, death was the dark puddles, death was the buzzing, screaming well of voices, death was terrifying yet temporary.

*SANITY LOW

What he didn't know was what would happen to him if the blue vial was completely drained or the red vial was completely full. For all he knew it was something even _worse_ than the puddles and the only way he'd find out was ~~if~~ when it completely emptied, and speaking of which he only had a few drops left in there-

 _"Don't panic Sammy, just focus on something else... ...Like the sketchbook!"_ He pulled the book out of his waistcoat and opened it to the first page. _"After all, you can't properly complete the ritual if you don't know which of these characters Henry is supposed to be."_

The first few pages were rough drafts and character notes, a few of the notes had been written on by other people. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the book, the blinking vial and the sound of the switch just kept bleeding into his thoughts.

**So how many of these designs are 'monster that hunts us down on a near daily basis but less like something outta a horror flick?'**

**Only two???**

**That's still too many, boss.**

**I wish that the ~~Projeconst~~ ~~Projectionest~~ Mr. Polk was as nice as how you draw him...**

**Me too.**

**\-------------------------------------------------**

*SANITY LOW

**\-------------------------------------------------**

**Bertrum Piedmont: Archangel Architect of Heaven's Wonders.**

**Yikes Charley, how long didya spend drawing this shmuck's suit?** ****

**Roughly 4 hours, but a solid 2 hours of it was trying to incorporate this: *a detailed drawing of the Willow Whipper* into his design.**

**I thought that the goal was to give him a less complicated design.**

**And I succeeded! The ride took a grand total of 19 hours to draw.**

**If I took the tiny train off of his halo, would he yell at me?**

**No, you're a kid so he'd just ask you politely but firmly to give it back to him.**

**If you took the tiny train off of his halo, would he yell at you?**

**Yes.**

**\-------------------------------------------------**

*SANITY LOW

**\-------------------------------------------------**

**Hey Charley if you redesigned us, what would we look like?**

**I'd be taller and I wouldn't be bald.**

**What about me and Barley?**

**Can't mess with perfection.**

**Oh no ya don't! I'm not climbin a ladder every half hour just ta speak to you!**

**\-------------------------------------------------**

*SANITY LOW

**\-------------------------------------------------**

**Over 100 different death scenes? You really don't like Alice not Angel and Tom Conner...**

**Remember when those pricks held you and Edgar prisoner for days and I thought you two had gone to the dark puddles for good but no a pair of paranoid yahoos just kept you locked up and threw me in when I tried to break you two free? I still haven't gotten over that but if I try anything they will kill me. This is called art therapy.**

**And the ink demon that keeps us trapped here hasn't earned a single 'art therapy session' because?**

**I refuse to draw him because he's too ugly for me to look at for that long.**

**And why do you draw his prophet so often?**

**His voice is soothing and everything I write him saying I can read in his voice.**

**\-------------------------------------------------**

*SANITY LOW

**\-------------------------------------------------**

**Emma Lamont: Divine Dancer upon paradise's stage.**

**So if she's a bird who became an angel does that mean she has two pairs of wings?**

**No, she's technically in the same boat as Alice and is supposed to be 'wingless' but if they tried removing them... Well, 'arms' are kinda important for dancing.**

**I hate birds, but I like her! She's pretty!**

**Thanks.**

**\-------------------------------------------------**

*SANITY LOW

**\-------------------------------------------------**

**Charley, we need to talk about this character.**

**What's wrong with him?**

**Your depiction of the grim reaper is surprisingly and almost disturbingly friendly. He's calm, helpful, and is the only character in your book who has never gotten a villainous or an antagonist role. Have you been thinking about... you know, buying the farm?**

**WHAT?! And go back to the puddles?! Of course not! even if it was possible for us to "Exit stage left" without the well being involved, there's no way I'd ever want to leave you or Edgar behind! He's just based off of an old friend this 'Joey' guy used to have.**

**So what _was_ your thought process with his design?**

**"Wouldn't it be funny if the guy who fears death and being forgotten was best friends with death?" And also 'So according to this tape, the death of the studio was caused by Henry', what if that was more literal?**

**Okay, I get it, I just worry about you sometimes.**

**I understand, I worry about you too.**

**\-------------------------------------------------**

*SANITY LOW

**\-------------------------------------------------**

**Bellwether 'Sam' Hellion: Music Director and Conductor of Hell's orchestras.**

***Several scribbled out drawings of black sheep, white sheep, satyrs, demons with ram's horns, etc.***

**Why is he so hard to make a final design for?!**

**What if you make him stay a black sheep? It goes with the name you gave him.**

**No, that feels too on the nose.**

**Then why would you name him that and make your reason "Puns"?**

**Say 'Bellwether Hellion' fast enough and it almost sounds like "Rebellion"? And a bellwether is also what you call the leader of a mutiny?**

**You know what else a bellwether is? the sheep who leads the rest of the flock of sheep.**

**I like the black sheep design! He looks warm and soft like a cloud and I wanna hug him.**

**He's supposed to be at least a 'little' bit scary.**

**What if you make him a bird then? those are _really_ scary! 'specially crows and ravens!**

**That's... actually a good idea, they're scary because they're smart and mischievous like how a demon usually is and that fits with the surname, they can hold grudges for years to come just like his character, they're songbirds so they do fit with his theme... In fact, don't ravens _lead_ birds out and away from their territory? Just like a bellwether!**

_**Please don't make him too scary... WHATEVER YOU DO DON'T GIVE HIM BIRD TALONS!** _ ****

**\-------------------------------------------------**

Somewhere after concept art, rough drafts, final drafts, and the artist's notes came a few height charts- Wait a minute!

According to the book, he was technically off model; two feet smaller than how he was supposed to be. How on earth did _that_ happen? It would be one thing if he was like this because the design was short, but-

*SANITY LOW

"ALRIGHT, I GET IT!"

He slammed the sketchbook shut and stuffed it into his waistcoat before climbing out from underneath his desk. Then he took the blueprints off of his desk and slid his office's window open and climbed out from there, making sure to shut it behind him.

Still on edge, he looked around for any signs of the Ink Demon; but there was no ink webbing across the floors and walls, no sound of his own heart pounding in his chest like a drum, no annoying comments from the dastardly foe. He was safe and alone. Knowing this, he had finally let out a sigh of relief that he held hostage.

He still had that annoying blinking sanity meter in the corner of his eye, but he knew who Henry was supposed to be, he could now correctly preform the ritual and now he could possibly make allies! He had a feeling it would be easier to stay sane if he had other people to talk to than himself and the Ink Demon.

**" _GOTCHA!_ "**

" _BAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH?!_ "

Sampson's small victory didn't last long as the next thing he knew, he was held by the back of his waistcoat face-to-face with the perpetually grinning nightmare who was determined to make his life (afterlife?) a living hell.

 **"Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you. Like I said before I just wanna talk; so this whole 'on model' thing you somehow keep pulling off..."** He 'looked' around as if he was making sure that the two of them were the only ones present. **"Uh... Do you think you can show me how to do it? Please? I know I shouldn't be asking you this because you hate me and whatnot, I'd ask Samuel, but he's _out cold_ and probably doesn't remember anyway..."**

Sampson just stared at him with his eyes full of fear and his words stuck in his throat; even if he had wanted to tell him, he couldn't. Although, the Ink Demon seemed unaware of this.

**"Tell you what; If you do this for me, I'll sift through aaaaaaaall of the memories in the inky puddles and find you some of the happier memories you lost AND help you get rid of the memories that don't actually belong to you! Believe or not, your past actually wasn't a load of pure agony brought on by a cruel father and an uncaring mother! This kinda thing happens sometimes; thousands of human souls and minds melt together in the ink, it's hard to make sure you are 100% you. But if I round up you and Samuel, bring you two together again, and do my other thing, I can help you bump that number up to at least 83% yourself which is a LOT more than what you have right now. (trust me.)"**

*SANITY EMPTY

"Aaah.hehheheheheheheeheheheheheheheehehaahaHAHAHAAHaHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..........HHAAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.......HAhahAhaHA.......AHahA.....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!"

**"Uh... So is this a 'yes' or a 'no'? ...Or is this your way of saying 'I need a little more time to think this through'?"**

"AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHA!!!! * _gaaaaaaaaassssssssp_ * _AaaaAaaAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhAHAHAHAhAHAHAHAH!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!_ "

**"You know, there's no need to laugh at me! you could just say no! I get it! I'm the big mean bad guy who rains on your parade and chances of freedom! I'm the villain, the antagonist, the-OH HOLY $#!* WHAT THE * &!# SAMMY?!"**

**" _AAAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! HAAHA!HAHAAH!! HAAAHAHAHHAHAH!! HAHAHAAHHA! HAAHAHAHAHAH! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAH!! HAHAHAHAH!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!_ "**

The Ink Demon could not see with his face, he could only see with the aid of the cutouts. To remedy this, he had acute hearing that allowed him to hear everything in the studio, everything from the loudest church bell's ringing to the quietest shuffle of tip-toeing feet.

He didn't see Sampson change before his eyes, but he could _hear_ the way the songbird demon's ink started to twist and churn in his body, (and hear a song? It was familiar to the Ink Demon somehow...) he could _feel_ the once small and fluffy creature grow bigger to the point where holding him up was useless, as well as feel some kind of stringy substance caress his body. He could _smell_ the ink dripping down his body, accompanied by the smell of saliva dripping down the bird's beak.

And he didn't need to see to know that the look in the former music director's eyes was crazed and hinged on an animalistic animosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun AU facts: Most of the Butchers' knowledge of corvids comes from hands-on experience. Charley doesn't know about the white raven myth, and giving Sammy black feathers just his face too difficult to draw without accidentally making him lose his face in the ink or making him look like a different bird while saying 'screw it', rolling with the lost face design and making him a "shadow demon" made his design too scary for Edgar.
> 
> Shame that Inky went and undid that cute design (albeit unintentionally).


	6. Man 'too old to deal with this shit' wakes from death-induced coma to discover he has a projector for a head and that his old coworker is really weird and horny.

The crazed Music Demon cackled and 'sang' as he chased his prey out of the music department. The Ink Demon didn't hear words coming out of the bird's beak; only the sounds of notes being played on broken instruments and deranged laughter that sounded closer to the bleating of a sheep and the hoarse caws of a raven than it did to a human being's laugh. Come to think about it, even before his corruption he didn't hear the birdlike chimera speak once, he only heard sounds coming out from it.

Although, the tune of the song was well-known enough for the demon to picture what the Chimera was 'singing'

**" _'Round and 'round the stu-di-o, the Songbird chased the Deeeee-mon. The Songbird thought 'twas all in good fun...' then *POP* Goes the Ink Demon!_ "**

The beast drew closer and closer as his former tormentor cursed his bad leg, desperately looking out the eyes of his cutouts for where he was and where the nearest miracle station also was. Believe it or not, this was not the first time the Ink Demon had gone from the most dangerous being in the studio to another desperate soul fleeing and hiding from a much more dangerous entity.

**" _Up and down the toymaker's stairwells, In and out the woooork-shop. That's the way the coward flees- *POP* Goes the Ink Demon!_ "**

Sometimes Joey would change up the story when he felt that either Henry or the demon (or both) needed to be punished. Sometimes accidents would happen, like Buddy taking control of Brute Boris and using the strength of his mangled form to kill him, the angel, the projectionist, practically everyone EXCEPT Henry before collapsing into a pile of quickly melting ink and scraps. Or Henry not finding any food in weeks and getting ... _desperate..._

 **"** _**A painting for the butchers' work, A scythe for the deaaaad-man. But where did all the money go? *POP* Goes the Ink Demon!** _ **"**

The speed-limping demon internally shuddered at the memory of THAT cursed rerun as he practically flew down the stairs, narrowly avoiding the strange inky tendrils that lashed at him. He could already feel the Music Demon's talons tapping the tune away on his very spine, and he didn't even 'sing' the fourth verse yet. He had to do something and fast!

**"Wait a minute... &%^@!"**

Past reruns be damned he was still THE FUCKING INK DEMON, DAMMIT! He could just seep through the walls if he wanted!

 **"** _ **Stupid fear response...**_ **"** He angrily muttered to himself as he teleported away from danger. **" _Stupid Sampson..._ " **He continued to mutter as he kicked a butchered gang member's corpse in frustration and began to slosh through a shallow pool of ink. **" _Stupid...-_ Wait."**

He couldn't see where he was due to the lack of cutouts in the area, but he could hear the steady whirring rhythm of multiple projectors nearby.

**"Oops! Sorry Norman, thought this was somewhere else! Bye!"**

As he turned away from the entrance to the Projectionist's maze to head over to the stairs, he was met with hot breath and the feeling of something moist and stringy tangling around his good leg and slowly creeping up the rest of his body.

**"I'm not going to get rip of you THAT easily, am I?"**

The other demon let out a delighted chuckle at his prisoner's quip.

**"Well too bad, because you're not getting ME that easily either!"**

The Ink Demon then proceeded to rip the song off of this leg and bolted into the maze, despite the protests of the screeching Projectionist. At that second an idea flashed in his mind;

**"What if this is like Rock, paper, scissors? I can take down the Projectionist in a matter of seconds, I _know_ better than to try to confirm whether or not Sammy could kill me, but what if the Projectionist could kill Sammy?"**

" **Or the two of you could take him down together,** " The angel's voice quipped through the speakers " **that could work too.** "

Although he'd hate to admit it out loud, she had a point. Down in the studio, strength in numbers was nothing to trifle with. Even the butchered gangs were a force to reckon with when they stayed in groups of three and the helpless Lost ones and Searchers could be fearsome when they attacked in large groups.

**"Hey! You stay out of this! It's just between me, the skulker, and your crazy-religious-ex. _"_**

" **Why don't YOU stay out of MY domain then?** "

He rolled his nonexistent eyes at the Angel's question as he made his way down the maze.

**"We've been over this before: The entire studio belongs to me! the rest of you just happen to survive in it! _(Hey, is that a soul down here..?)_ "**

The pair of reels the demon pulled out of the ink were in surprisingly pristine condition considering the location they were pulled out of. They were by no means brand new and fresh out of the packaging, but they were in good enough condition to put into a projector. As he held them close to his chest, he felt a strange warmth coming from them.

" **And WE were here before YOU were!** " The deformed angel spat " **You revolting creature!** "

**"Jeez Alice, just because you shattered every mirror within a 10-mile radius doesn't mean you can pretend that I'm one."**

Malice huffed and proceeded to ignore the Ink Demon. She almost considered turning off her microphone before deciding that the Ink Demon's "friends" might need a little help in their game of hide and seek.

" **He's to your right, behind the- -never mind it looks like you caught him.** "

**" _YEAOWCH!_ Oh for &!(#'s sake..."**

The Ink Demon found himself entangled within a trap made of sharp inky strands of something that had the honest-to-god worst texture he had ever felt; it was cold, sticky, prickly, and clammy as if the devil himself looked at spiderwebs, seaweed, and thorny rose bushes and thought to himself; 'how do I combine these objects and make them even worse than they ever were before?'

**" _W̧͟R҉̸͡R҉̡R҉̛̕͞R̴̡͜͡R̵R͏̕R̢҉R̵̨̛͡R̛̕Ŗ͢͡͠R͘͡R͡҉̨͠R̵̢R͟͟R͠R̷̛͟R̵͝R̸̡͘̕҉R̴̕͜R̸͡R̢R̴̢̕R̴͜Ŗ̷͠͞Ŗ͟Y̸͘͟Y͏̴̧͡Y͏Y̡̕Y̷Y̷̢̕͝Y͞͝Y̴͘Y͘͏͜Y̵͘͜Y̴̡͜Y͡Y̴̡̛͡Y͠Y̷̵͝Y̡̛͢͢͜!_ "**

As he desperately pulled on the strands to untangle himself, he narrowly missed a punch from Norman. Dropping the Music Demon's trap, the Ink Demon grabbed the Projectionist by his shoulder, threw him down on the ground and sat on top of him. The projector-headed monster flailed and pounded his fists against the chest of the deceptively frail-looking Demon, his wires and film was lashing about wildly and the light went all over the place. He was very obviously not used to being touched, let alone pinned to the ground.

**" _W͏̧͡R̴̴̢̡͘R͞҉R̷̕͏҉RR̨̛R̶̶̛̛R̕͝R͢͡͠҉R̡͢͢R̶̶͜͟Ŗ͏R͟R̶̡͡͠R̴̢͝R̶̨͞R͏̸͠R͏̷̴R̶̢͘͢͡R̴̴̡̛R̡͡͡R͜͠R̨͘͠͏RR̵̶͘͘R̨R̨͞R͜͟͢͏͝R͏̡҉R̷͞R̷̢͟R͏̸͏R̷͘͠͠R̴̴̢͟R͏̡R̡̡͢R̡͘͟͡͞Ŗ͏̛R̸̢R͡R̛Ŗ͠R̡͠R̴̡̕͝R̛͞Y̨̢͡Y҉҉Y̶̛̕͟͟Y̢͝Y̷҉̢͠Y̵̷̵̴Y̶̛͘Y̸̛̕͜͞Y̧Y͟͏Y̴̶͡Y̵͢Y͟͟͞͠Y̵̷̨̧Y̵̧͟͝͠Y̡̧͏͠Y̧͟͢͞Y̵͢͢͡Y̸͠Y̶̛Y̸̷͘Y̷̴̶̨Y̧̢͜Y̶̧̕Y̨͟͢Y̡͝Y̷̴̢͘͜!!!_ "**

**"Yeah, yeah, put a can in it, tin-head! And hold still!"**

Trying to put a pair of reels into a projector that jerked and flailed as much as it could was not fun or easy by any means, especially when there's a bloodthirsty creature that may or may not enjoy toying with its prey before eating it. The more the Projectionist jerked and flailed about, the more dread and anxiety the Ink Demon felt. And it didn't help that he couldn't see what he was doing either.

**"C'mon, C'mon! Let me just.. Ah-HA!"**

He prevailed nonetheless, successfully clicking the reels into place and triumphantly standing up with pride beaming in his posture as he felt the soul within the pair of reels slowly begin to bring sentience to the Projectionist.

A staticky groan escaped the speaker in the revived soul's chest as he shook off a headache and pulled himself up. This was great! With Norman's working eye and the Ink Demon's superb hearing, there was no way Sammy could sneak up on both of them!

**"Oooh Saaaaammyyyyy~ I have a surprise for yoooooouuu! _Come and get it..._ "**

" **Ppppfffftt HAHAHAHAHA!!!** " The Angel tried and failed to contain her escaping laughter. " _ **AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Whee hee hee *hic* Ha ha ha... .**_ **..Did you honestly not HEAR him flying around and laying out that web-like music trap of his?** "

**"His wha-"**

_*SNAP*_

In a single split second, the two fearsome menaces of the Studio found themselves suspended in midair, held up by the sticky strands that resembled songs at a distance. Thankfully, these weren't the 'sharp' songs but it was still greatly uncomfortable. The disoriented Projectionist was raised up higher than the Ink demon was and tilted in a way where he was looking at the floor, acting like a spotlight that illuminated the Corrupted Chimera.

Suddenly, the creature took the Ink Demon's hands and started to lead the pair into a tango as the maze began to fill with music, not the stringy tangible variety but genuine music. And for the first time, he heard Sammy's voice come out of the beast's mouth. Except, "Sammy's" voice sounded raspy, as if the man had been smoking a pack of cigarettes every day for several decades. In spite of this and the fact it sounded like it hurt his throat to sing, he still managed to do it.

**" _I ache for the touch of your lips, dear, But much more for the touch of your whips, dear._ "**

The angel had apparently fallen on the floor while laughing at the Demon's discomfort, judging by what he heard coming out of the speakers. However, the Music Demon didn't seem to care and only continued to dance with the Ink Demon who was actively trying to pry himself out of way-too-kinky-for-him-tango-jail.

 **" _You can raise welts Like nobody else,_ " **The Chimera paused for a second to stroke the Ink Demon's face with his right wing, 'accidentally' cutting up his face with his talons in the process. **"** _ **As we dance to the Masochism Tango!**_ **"**

Sammy dipped the demon, wrangled him back in as he tried to escape and continued the dance.

**" _Let our love be a flame, not an ember, Say it's me that you want to dismember._ _Blacken my eye, Set fire to my tie,_ "**

The Demon wondered if it was coincidental that he could swear he could smell something burning, but didn't dwell on it as he was currently more aware of the pain of Sammy's hoof crushing his good foot.

**" _As we dance to the Masochism Tango! At your command_ "**

Sammy let go of the demon to give a mock salute, as he ran away, the chimera materialized in front of him in a split second.

**" _Before you here I stand,_ "**

The Ink Demon turned and fled again, only to be greeted by Sammy behind him again, except there was a giant gaping hole in his chest and he was now holding out a severed inky heart to the demon.

 **" _My heart is in my_ _hand._.."** The Songbird paused to look at the pulsating organ in his hands **" _Ecch!_ "**

Before crushing it to a messy paste out of pure disgust.

**" _It's here that I must be. My heart entreats, Just hear those savage beats, And go put on your cleats And come and trample me!_ "**

He then threw the demon to the ground and trampled him with his hooves, then swept him back up into the dance.

 **" _Your heart is hard as stone or_** **_mahogany, That's why_ I'm in _such exquisite_ agony."**

The Ink Demon just rolled his eyes at this lyric, he wasn't THAT cruel to Sammy when he was his prophet... was he?

**" _My soul is on fire, it's aflame with desire, Which is why I perspire when we tango._ "**

At this point the demon finally managed to break out of Sammy's hold, before he could run away, he grabbed him and spun him back to facing him.

**" _You caught my nose In your left castanet, love, I can feel the pain yet, love, Ev'ry time I hear drums._ "**

He pulled out a rose and held it to the demon. Like a fool, he took it and held it in his mouth.

**" _And I envy the rose That you held in your teeth, love, With the thorns underneath, love, Sticking into your gums._ "**

The Ink demon quickly spat out the rose as its thorns pierced his tongue and gums.

**" _Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches. The last time I needed twenty stitches To sew up the gash You made with your lash, As we danced to the Masochism Tango!_ "**

Sammy had (finally) freed the ink demon from following in the tango number, but still wasn't done with him yet.

 **" _Bash in my Brain,_ " **He hit the demon over the head with a pipe. **" _And make me scream with pain,_ " **He twisted the demon's left arm until he screamed for him to stop. **" _Then kick me once again,_ " **He delivered a swift kick to the demon's crotch. **"And say we'll never part."**

He scooped the demon off the inky floor and embraced him in a hug.

**" _I know too well I'm underneath your spell, So, darling, if you smell Something burning, it's my heart. *hic* (Excuse me!)_ "**

He made a heart-shaped gesture with his talons.

 **"** _**Take your cigarette from its holder, And burn your initials in my shoulder.** _ **"**

Instead of taking out a cigarette, Sammy instead simply carved "BSH" into the Ink Demon's shoulder with a talon.

**" _Fracture my spine, And swear that you're mine..._ "**

He bent the demon in a way that would've broken a normal human's spine in two and hugged him once more.

**" _As we dance to the Maso- -chism Tango!_ "**

After the dance was finally done and over with, the tendrils unraveled, freeing the Projectionist and the Ink Demon. However, there wasn't much the pair of demons could do about it as the Music demon and the Ink demon both collapsed from a mix of pain and exhaustion. While collapsed, large amounts of corrupted ink began to shed off of the former's body, leaving a much less intimidating cartoon chimera where the corrupted one once stood.

Norman fell to the floor but put his arms in front of him so he wouldn't face-plant into the ink. As he pulled himself up once more, there were possibly thousands of questions rolling around in his film reels.

But first things first: getting both of these demons to safety (and far, far away from each other.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Malice enjoyed the show... But not as much as a perfectly good slice of angel's food cake. Happy Birthday chapter three! (song is Masochism Tango by Tom Lehrer)


	7. Samuel does the RPG thing where you ignore the main quest in favor of a bunch of side quests

The prophet fruitlessly searched the entire music department for his missing parasite. He wasn't in the band room, he wasn't in the infirmary, he wasn't in the sewers harassing the searcher with the nice hat (which Samuel was internally grateful for, that poor sheep of his had already been through too much!), he wasn't in his sanctuary, and he wasn't in the Music department's break room (also known as the billiard room). The only place he hadn't searched yet was his office.

Samuel shuddered at the thought of going there, that place was tainted, corrupt, he'd even go as far as calling it unholy, even! Sure it looked innocent, and he had put his message on one of its walls, but in addition to the fact that the pump switch in there still kept making its horrid noise years after the dreaded thing and all its pipes were installed within what should've been _his_ territory, that place just constantly made him feel uneasy for reasons he didn't fully understand. Every time he approached it, he got a splitting headache and felt sick. The prophet could swear that he felt something _wriggling and burying itself_ into his long gone flesh because of that room... 

However, it made sense for Sampson to be hiding there. The heretic had no problems with trying to kill him with an incorrect performance in the ritual room, so making him feel sick was not out of the question.

He groaned and took a cardboard cutout, hoping that having the holy symbol of his lord with him would at least keep him sane.

"What on earth..?"

The state of the area outside his office was a complete disaster! Ink and feathers littered practically every possible surface, it almost looked like somebody was exploding cartoon chickens in there, and it certainly smelt like it too. The sight of it honestly unnerved him, just because Sampson was behaving like a nuisance and had almost cost both of them their lives didn't mean Samuel wanted anything bad to happen to him!

He carefully removed the glass of his office's window to inspect the damage done there, but to his surprise it was almost exactly how he last left it: fairly tidy, all trash stayed in the trashcan, the message he wrote had remained on the wall (Although he could no longer understand what it said, the thing might as well have been written in welsh!), the pump remained untouched and still made that horrible noise (but it thankfully indicated that Sampson didn't escape by taking the still-flooded stairs.), but there was something missing here.

The prophet walked up to his old desk, taking note of the disturbed layer of dust on its surface.

"Interesting... Now why didn't you escape when you had the chance? Why did you take those blueprints instead?"

Now that he thought about it, why did HE have those blueprints on his desk in the first place? His lord had never ordered him to take them, he wouldn't even dream of going or being near the dreaded machine himself, and the last time he was in here was when he still had flesh, back then his mechanical knowledge was limited to doing simple repairs on those pesky leaky pipes-

"ACK!"

Sammy was suddenly hit with an intense headache, the time of headache so strong that it makes you want to bash your head in against a wall just to make it stop, the type of headache that made it nearly impossible to think of anything but the pain you're in, the type of headache that makes you wish you split your head open instead-

... ... ... ... ... ...still had flesh... ... ... ... ...pesky.. .leaky.. ..pipes... ...the... ...sm _ell._.. ... ... ... ... _the_... ...ink... ... _the_... ... _machine's... ...blueprints._.. ... ... ... ... ** _split your head open..._**

The cardboard cutout slipped out of Samuel's grip as he fell into a trance.

_Grief and anger are a dangerous combination. It always was, always is, and always will be. After the lyricist left, the final straw had broken the camel's back and the music director was filled with such a dreadful combination; lashing out at anyone and everyone who were unlucky enough to cross his path. Even unluckier, however, were those he had sought out to throw his anger at. Today's victim? The GENT mechanic._

_With the blueprints of an ink machine in hand, Sammy Lawrence marched his way down to the deep belly of the studio, a labyrinth of ink-filled pipes of which he despised, but they did nothing to keep their creator safe from the man's wrath._

_"Conner, what is the meaning of this?!"_

_The grumpy mechanic turned away from his work to face the irate musician who had shoved crumpled up blueprints into his face._

_"So now I'm finally 'Conner' to you?" the man simply shoved the blueprints out of his face "What did I do to finally earn "The Great Maestro Mr. Lawrence's" respect all of a sudden?"_

_"For the last time it's 'the music director' to YOU." The musician_ _sneered. "Not "The Great Maestro", Not "Mr. Lawrence", Not "Samuel", Not "Sampson", and not even "Sammy". We aren't friends and I highly doubt we ever will be. Now don't try to change the subject, explain yourself!"_

_The mechanic huffed and took the blueprints out of the musician's hands looking them over and looking back at him with an unamused expression with a raised eyebrow._

_"These are just blueprints for a different ink machine. What's wrong with them?"_

_"What's wrong with them?! WHAT'S WRONG WITH THEM?! Do I look like one of your drooling idiots to you?!"_

_"Not one of mine..." The mechanic muttered under his breath. "But yes."_

_The musician still heard the insult and narrowed his eyes at it, but he let it slide in favor of chewing the mechanic out. (He could almost swear that the man knew about his "mental tunnel vision" problem...)_

_"Look. Closely. At. This. Name. Here. Who's is it?"_

_"Wally Franks."_

_"Exactly. Why in God's good name would you ever appoint WALLY of all people to design and build this damned thing?! Even if he had the time to stop cleaning a several story building to cater to your every beck and call, he's the only person here who's even more incompetent than you!"_

_As the musician angrily rambled on with his hotter-than-usual temper and spicier insults, Thomas Conner went from rolling his eyes at the musician blowing hot air to having a chilling realization slowly seep into the mechanic._

_"Lawrence, how did you know that I wrote these blueprints?"_

_"Why does that matter?"_

_"These are in Wally's handwriting, how did you know it was actually me?"_

_"You're bad at mimicking it then." The musician scoffed. "Look at this. Your 'a's are too big and- HEY! Are you even listening to me?!"_

_The scene abruptly cut from Sammy and Thomas in the pipe labyrinth to an eagle-eye view of the former's office, but with the latter making adjustments to a pipe that clearly didn't need them. The pipe creaked and groaned after he was done, threatening to break any second, didn't quite break right then. The mechanic gave an approving nod at his handiwork before leaving, while he recorded a tape about him complaining about the low quality of the pipes, Sammy walked into his office and sat down with the blueprints in front of him._

_In spite of the bitter situation he was in, the man was unusually sober, possibly trying to imagine why on earth the mechanic was trying to mimic the janitor's handwriting... But before he could come to a conclusion, the pipes above him made terrible noises that grew louder and louder *CrrreEeeeEEeeAAaaaAaCKkKKK* Furious at the loudest one of them all, the man looked up to see where that annoying noise came from- *CRAAACK*_

_The pipe burst in such a way that it popped the musician's skull wide open like a damned egg. And the ink that came out of it flooded everywhere on the man, all over his body, in his mouth, right into the brain itself, the ink greedily seeped into everything it could, giving its unwilling host a new purpose in his miserable life._

_I҉̧̨T̛͢ ̶̛͢͡W̧̧͡͝A̸͘҉Ş̡͘͡͝N҉͡'̢̡͢T͠҉̧̨ ̴̢̨̢͜I͞҉̨N̨͟C̸̸͘͘͏Ǫ̕͞M̡͜͞P̸͟͝͡Ȩ̷͠T̴̸͟͡E̷̢Ņ̶̢̨͟C̶͞E̢͢͡͡ ̶͠_

_W̴̡̧̧A͢͡LĻ̸͟͝Y̷̸̨͡ ͜W̢͟͢҉͞A̵̧̨̡Ş̛͜ ̴̕F̢͞R̵͘҉̴A҉̕͠͠M̕͞Ę̨D̴͢_

_J̵̧͟͏A̸̡͏̶̛C̢͘Ķ͘ ̢͡Ḑ͏҉I̸̡͟҉D͏͢N͢͞'̢̕̕T͡ ̡͏L̴҉E̢̡͏̴̕A͟͠V̢͘͞E̡҉͘͠,͘͠ ̸̴H̕Ȩ͜ ̴̸͝҉͞Ņ̵̷͞͠E͜͢͜V҉͞Ę̡R̸͘͏ ̢̨͏̸L̵̨͠͡͏E̴̷̸̕͞F̴̴̵͏͏T̸͟_

_T̨͢H̵͡IS̶̡ ̨͝I̶̛͏͝S͜ ̷̶̡҉J̶̴̡͢͞ǪȨ̷͡Y̶͞͞'҉̢͘͟S̛ ͢S̨̡̡T̡͝O̶̡͟͡͠R̸̢͞͡Y̸̨͘͝_

_V̛͟҉I̛C͘̕͟T̷͞͏I̕͏̷͞M̶̴͞S̨͝ ̢͘B̴̢̡̕E͏̨C̵̶͞O͏̡҉҉M̢͢E̢͠ ̷̢͟V҉̸̶I̴̛̛͝L̕҉͜L͘Ą͞͝͏I̸͡͏̵Ņ̶͘͢S̵̛ ̵A̷̷N̸̸D͟͡͏͢͡ ̷͏͟V͜Į͘͝L̢͜͡L̵͘A̛͠͝҉̢I̵̢̛͜N̷҉S͏҉̴̛͘ ̵̷҉B̢̢͞҉͘E̵҉Ç̨͞͝O҉͟M̢҉̧̢E̵̴̴͝ ͡V̴̵I̵͜͟C̴͟T͟I̧̨̡͘͜M͞S̷̢_

Samuel was beginning to hyperventilate, he could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks, he was pulling at his hair and almost ready to break down right then and there as the his visions continued to distort and twist from a comprehensible story to a bunch of too loud voices that shrieked among a sea of static that pierced his ears- no, his mind.

*SIDE QUEST: PERFECT HARMONY

*TIP: GET THE COFFEE MACHINE TO WORK AND BRING SOME TO THE SEWER.

*SANITY LOW

The quest and the blinking vial snapped him right back into reality, he picked the cardboard cutout off the floor and hugged onto it as if it was a lost lover that had been assumed to be dead.

"The pump!"

No longer caring for the glass, the prophet practically threw himself outside the office and bolted down the hall, the sanity vial's contents stopped dropping as soon as he was far away from his office.

"The pump must've been... causing that."

He was in the band room again as he saw something else pop up.

*TIP: COMPLETING SIDE QUESTS CAN RESTORE YOUR SANITY.

He could do that, he knew where the coffee machine was. And, as he was in the band room, he picked up Olivia's violin off of its spot and put it in its proper case before taking it with him.

"And that other sheep wanted a book, right? I think I can find him one. And while I'm up here, I know we're running low on food down there and we could use some more wood to fix the holes in the roofs."

*SIDE QUEST: FOOD RUN

*TIP: COLLECT 50 CANS OF BACON SOUP AND BRING IT TO THE VILLAGE.

*SIDE QUEST: CONSTRUCTIVE COMPOSER

*TIP: AN AX WOULD COME IN HANDY.

Bacon soup was everywhere, he wouldn't have a problem with that, but as for getting his hands on an ax... the only one nearby was _That_ ax. The one that he knew was meant for the sheep... Surely he wouldn't miss it if he just happened to borrow it for a little while, right?

"I'll only have it for a few minutes, and then I'll put it right back, nobody would even notice a thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that can also restore the Sams' sanity: correctly solving puzzles, talking to people that either of them like, making progress in main quests, playing music on nearby instruments (Watch out, noise attracts the Ink Demon who can make both Sams' sanity plummet), peacefully resolving fights (violently resolving them also does the trick but it also fills up the 'urge to kill' vial), sitting in a miracle station for a long period of time (Slowly but surely recharges the vial while the others instantly fill it, but does not recharge when threats are nearby)


	8. I give you Norman with a homemade grappling hook and a wild goose (raven?) chase.

"A̷lrig͜h͘t,͜ c'̧m̧e̶re̷ y̧o͝u..̡.͜"

The projector headed man knelt down and carefully scooped up the purified toon, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that in spite of the fact that he was strong enough to have had lifted him up to use him as a spotlight, the chimera demon was no heavier than a feather-stuffed pillow. Then he turned his attention to the larger demon; the lanky, bony creature that vaguely resembled Bendy.

"A̶n̕d ͟I̛ a͢in'͝t f͜orget̶t̕in͜' yo̸us̛- _YEO҉WC͜Ḩ!_ "

The moment the Projectionist grabbed the demon, his hand felt like it had grabbed a hot coal and he withdrew it instantly. He looked over his own hand; a few clear droplets seemed to be fizzing into his inky flesh. He looked to the ink demon and noted that unlike the chimera who's ink seemed dry, and unlike him who was only covered in wet ink, the ink that composed the still grinning demon's body was very shiny, as if it was still wet.

"Or ͜if ̸the͘r͟e'҉s͢ ̴sǫme҉th͜ang ͝o̸th̸er than i͠nk͢ ͟m̨ixe̢d i̴n the͟re... ...̧somȩthin̵' d͞an͘g҉erous͟.̵"

And in that moment Norman realized he had a dilemma on his hands.

He could pick up the music demon no problem, the assumed former composer was small, light, and he was in strong contrast to his tangible songs; soft, fluffy, and pleasant to the touch. In fact, even with his 'sixth sense' of his, if he didn't see the bizarre tango number for himself and couldn't feel the chimera's faint yet steady heart beat, he would've mistaken the unconscious toon for a high quality stuffed animal.

But the Ink Demon? He didn't know how much the beanpole of a stretched-out toon weighted as every time he so much as touched the creature, he recoiled instantly as it felt like his hand was touching hot acid. So throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying him out of here was out of the question, and he couldn't tie the ink demon up with the songbird demon's songs as they had all completely disintegrated. But it didn't sit right with him to just let the creature rot down in this more dangerous version of his old workplace, especially when he went out of his way to wake him back up.

He set the music demon down on a nearby crate above the ink as it didn't seem like a good idea to carry him around while searching. After all, what if he found a rope but needed to untie it from something and accidentally dropping him back in the ink in the process? He didn't know what triggered Sammy(?)'s changes and didn't want to accidentally end up with the giant, monstrous form of the toon forcing him into a dance routine while singing about how he was going to pop off his head and use his body as a footrest.

"Now̡, you two ͘is ͡go͝nna̕ st̸ay͞ here an͞d͞ ̕w̢a͏i͡t̢ t̷il͟ I̶ ͘get̡ ̷b͡a̵c͜k͝,̵ I̸'m̛ ͠g͢on̕n̢a̵ fi͠nd ͠a ͏rop̵e͠ o̷r̕ so͡me̷than҉g͞ ta̶ ̕help͟."

Norman turned away to look for a thing to help him drag the ink demon along, froze, turned back, and called up to the pair of demons who had not moved since the dance number.

"An͠d͝ dǫn'̨t yoųs g̨o ̧p͏ick͡i͟n' fi̛gh͢tş wi҉t͞ḩ e̕ach ̢o͢theŗ ͢w̷hile̸ I͏'m ͜g̵o̴ne!"

The first place he had searched was the maze level 14 had turned into, he found the weirdest looking corpses he had ever seen in his life (and considering his old job and what he saw during his time there, that was really saying something). Mangled, butchered, distorted creatures who vaguely resembled the Butcher gang if you squinted right. A strange bunch of corpses who had their forms cobbled together with scraps.

Very useful scraps.

The Butchered-up version of Charley he came across didn't have anything useful at a glance, but the second time he passed it he noticed the wrench in the corpse's hand. Not a useful thing on it's own, but he took it anyway. Maybe he could use it to fix something-

"T͘hat tḩeŗe ҉fi͝shin͠' p̢o̕l͡e͘ l̛o̸o̡ks ̶lik͞e̴ ͝it'l҉l ̡c̵ome i҉n h͡an͞dy.͠.."

He muttered to himself as he went over to the failed recreation of what he assumed was Barley and ripped it clean out of the dead toon's neck, the head flopped off of the string and into the ink as he had done so. While the projectionist was satisfied with the result itself, he doubted that the fishing pole alone would be strong enough to handle the weight of the demon so he kept looking. And as luck would have it, he saw a certain spider-like corpse who wouldn't need that spring-loaded arm of his anymore.

The Projectionist ripped off the spider's arm with ease, but jumped back in shock as the corpse had lunged at him, the teeth on his second mouth chattering violently before the mutilated 'Edgar' had flopped back down into the ink.

"S͏o͜r̕ry̵ ̵fo҉r d̨ist͏ur҉bi̧n'̕ ҉a̷ll o͢ ̛y'a͟ll li̡k̷e҉ that," he apologized to the miserable corpses "bu͜t I͝ aįn͡'͢t͟ ͡k͡e͜e̸n on͜ l̸e̴t͠t̨in' ͡mys͞elf ̧e͏n̴d ҉up ̧l̴ik̢e͜ ǫn̷e̴ ͏of̸ y̛ous."

While he might've been imagining it, Norman could've sworn he heard a gurgled chuckle come from the disembodied head in the ink. He shook his head and went back to the pair of demons with his cobbled together grabby-pole, only to discover that the bird demon had disappeared into thin air.

"T̢h͜at͞ ̨can'̡ţ ͟lea̡d͏ ̕to anyt̛h̡ang goo̡d̷..."

But on the bright side he wouldn't have to worry about keeping the two from killing each other, ...right?

* * *

He'd return the ax as soon as he was done with it.

Even if he took a little bit longer than expected, his Lord wouldn't mind if he used it in His will... Who else would be sending him these strange 'Quests', 'Tips' and 'Side-Quests'? Surely these strange orders are from Him, no doubt about it. Okay, maybe a little bit of doubt as the handwriting on the messages didn't match up with his Lord's own handwriting- NO! The prophet shook the doubt from his mind, doubt was what had lead to his destruction many times over. He was doing the will of his Lord. He just had to be.

"I am doing this... for Him, in His name." he told himself as he carefully maneuvered his way through the boarded-up path. "He... He wants me to take it just for a little bit. I will return it after I'm done."

Talking to himself did nothing to reassure him, when he stood by the workshop table itself with the ax just in his reach, he felt absolutely sick with himself. As he reached out to grab it, he heard faint whispers at the back of his mind.

 _"Unworthy!"_ cried one voice. _"You're not the hero!"_ cried another.

He covered his ears trying to block out the voices, voices that he could swear that he could almost recognize if they spoke without hissing at him, and without trying to speak over on another but they didn't. They only grew louder and louder and they only seemed to multiply.

_"That isn't yours!"_

_"Play your part!"_

_"Go back!"_

_"Don't you dare disobey him!"_

_"Heretic!"_

_"Don't do it!"_

_"Traitor!"_

_"Selfish bastard!"_

And then, all those little voices faded to inaudible whispers in the background as one big voice took center stage. A big voice that he recognized at once.

_"You are nothing without me and you know it. Now, don't try to pretend that you're anything more than what you already are!"_

"Joey?!"

In spite of the voices and their insistence on making him leave the ax, he took it in one swift swipe, he took it and with his inkier hand, he wrote 'IOU' where the ax had been just in case the sheep came earlier than expected.

As he held the ax in his hands, two things happened. The first was that the voices were snuffed out altogether as if they were nothing but a candle to blow out.

" _GAH!_ "

And the second thing was that he felt some kind of static shock that one gets when caught in a prank with a joy buzzer, except instead of on his hands like he would've expected, he saw a flash of an image of three smiling men side by side in front of the studio when it was recently bought, and felt the shock solely on his eyes. He blinked the pain away, and noticed that there was something written on the wall other than 'the creator lied to us'. A message written over it in purple ink that said 'Joey lied to us'.

Sammy was slightly miffed at this message and decided to reply to it, although he doubted that he'd find a response if he looked back.

**Remember, you can blame Joey all you want and you have every right to, but he couldn't do this without Conner licking his boots.**

Nodding at his handiwork, he used the ax to take wood that looked suitable for the village, left, and found more purple ink messages. And he decided to reply to them too.

**Say hello to Sammy.**

**Hello Henry.**

He... was not sure why he wrote down "Henry" specifically. In hindsight, maybe it would've made more sense to write "Hello from Sammy" on the wall. But it wasn't like he could erase ink, so he just shrugged and left.

In the more active of his areas of worship, he found the word **Deceived** sprayed over his tape recorder in an insulting fashion, while he initially rolled his eyes at it, he couldn't deny that that specific tape of his was a little bit outdated given his Lord's new approach to making him worship Him. He took the tape recorder with him to make an updated recording later. As of right now, he had a coffee maker to find, repair, and bring to the sewer, a book to find, a bunch of soup to collect, more wood to chop, and... that was it, right?

No, there was something else he had to do, he was sure of it. Something... extremely important, he could swear it was on the tip of his tongue... But he'd have to settle with getting the other tasks done for now. 

He heard the sound of papers hitting the ground in a nearby room, he looked inside out of curiosity and spotted a cartoon creature that was half sheep and half bird, almost identical to the one in that silly little comics the sheep in his flock had been reading, but he recognized the thing behind the beak as something else.

Oh right! That's what his important task was! Finding that elusive nuisance of a parasite.

" _There_ you are! Now where have you been hiding?"

The chimera demon looked him dead in the eyes, dropped another model sheet on the ritual on the floor, tucked his half of the sketchbook into his waistcoat, and fucking _flew_ over his head to get past him.

" _HEY! GET BACK HERE!_ "

The prophet called out as he chased after the unruly toon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Insert 'Benny hill' theme here*


	9. You really shouldn't get on the bad side of the person who controls the elevator.

_Maybe the Music Demon was a fool to take the Ink Demon's words to heart._

_The beast lied over and over and over again, just like ** ~~Henry~~** Joey. Just like Joey. Henry doesn't lie to people **~~yes he does, he said he'd stay~~** , Henry doesn't go out of his way to hurt people ~~**remember that scythe of his?** ,~~ Sampson couldn't and wouldn't fault Henry for having the common sense to leave when he saw the writing on the wall. **~~He left us all to rot, he gave up his greatest work for that tramp!~~** Henry left Joey, not the animation industry. Even if Henry did leave the animation industry, that's none of his business._

_Maybe he was a fool to reflect on his own memories and notice some inconsistencies;_

_He broke out of jail five times? Once? maybe, twice? pushing it, but five times?! yeah, right. ** ~~They loved the show, didn't they? Why'd you want to take it from them?~~** Because it was just brain-rotting chaotic nonsense at best! Not a memory, but a mere daydream! And not even one he'd enjoy._

_He was a smoker in a strictly non-smoking music department? Not likely considering HE made the rules most of the time and how hard he had to work to enforce the rules! (edibles on the other hand... it was likely for him to happily take those until the 'big freaking chocolate cake' incident between him and Wally.) ** ~~Everybody breaks a little rule here or there, Sammy! Even the ones who make and enforce them!~~** Joey breaks rules he enforces, Sampson is not Joey and neither is Samuel._

_Being a priest? When would he have the time to do that when his music career was so important to him? Besides, it was unlikely considering that his relationship with the 'proper christian god' was ...complicated then, and especially complicated now. ** ~~People can still love someone who loves them and shows them a little tough love sometimes...~~** Maybe they can, but he didn't love that guy in the first place, and if the christians he knew were right, then their god didn't love him either._

_And most damning of all, his memories of his family! Whoever the man and woman "His Memories" showed him was, weren't his parents! ** ~~Yes they are! can't you see the resemblance?~~** No. They. WEREN'T! He knew for a fact his parents were weird as fuck and did screw up a handful of times but they were loving, wonderful people. His mom wasn't some bratty witch who treated him like a girl because she wanted a daughter, and his dad wasn't fucking white! The Banjo is a black instrument, his dad taught him how to play it and told him a bit about the history of it! **~~But Sammy-~~** NO! He. Did. Not. Resent. Them! Why do you want them to hate him so much?-_

_Wait a minute..._

_Isn't it a common tactic of cults and abusers to try to isolate their victims from their friends and family using any means they possibly could? ** ~~Sam-~~** Including but not limited to trying to convince the victim that their friends and family were against them? **~~I can explain-~~** You've done enough. **~~It's either me or the Ink Demon, who are you going to believe?~~**_

\---

Sampson woke up in an ink-flooded room that had the sounds of whirring projectors nearby. He didn't know why the Ink Demon brought him to level 14 of all places, or how the said demon was asleep(?) But he wasn't going to waste this precious opportunity to escape, especially when from within the maze he heard the gruesome sounds of flesh being ripped apart.

Hopefully now he'd do the ritual without any further setbacks.

* * *

From atop the stairs, Norman carefully aimed his grappling hook at the unconscious body of the Ink Demon, and was just about ready to fire...

" **You do know he's just going to use you for his own gain, right?** "

The sudden voice of the corrupted angel startled him into missing his shot. He frowned internally and began to reel back the hand part of his grappling hook before answering her.

"I̛t looks̕ like̵ ͟a ̕d̴o̶g-̵ea҉t-d͏o̷g w̢orld͡ ̢d͢o͏wn̢ h͠ere, ͏I'̢m̵ not̢ s͞u͘rp͏rised in t̷h͢e͡ da̴ņg̷ ̕s͝l͠i̕gh̡t̸est.̕"

" **Oh? Then why are you trying to help him?** "

"Cu̴r̡io͟si͢t̕y͠,̧ ̶I s̷up̴p̛ǫse.͏" The projectionist shrugged. "Ev͢e͞ŗy̴t̢h̕ang's gone to̴ chaos and ̸I͏'ve ͠cl̨ea̶r̢ly b͝ee̢n o͠u̢t̸ f̡o̕ŗ ̸a͝n ̶awfu͢l ͏lo̶n͘g ̢tim͞e.̵ ̶It'̶ll ͠d҉o͞ me so͢m̸e̡ go̸od to gȩt ͠an̸ ͠updat͢e ̛o͠r̛ t͏wo on ͝th͠e̸ stu͟d̢i̕o̡ a͟s͟i͝de҉ ̢from ̴s͞e̛ein'̛ ̢it͟ f̨o̧r͝ m͟y̶s͘el͠f.͢"

" **And you want it from _him?!_ That creature does nothing but hurt others and lie! _He's no different than Joey..._** "

"I g̛ot ̶t̶h͏e impre̸s͡s̕ion h̴e͞'s a̛ fe̸w teeth short o͏f҉ ͢a s̵m͠i̡le.͡.҉. ͜but͜ how ̕an I ͏s͡uppo̢s̛ęd to tak͞e͠ ̡y͏ou͠r͏ ҉w̕o҉rd f͞or a̢ny͢t҉h͞an͠g͘ w͏hen a̢ll y͢ous ͢d͝i̛d is ̷la̷u̕gh̛ ͞a͡t t͜hę ҉m̛is҉fort̕un̢e̢ ͏of ͞ot̨he͟rs?"

" **I laughed at HIS misfortune, you would to if you knew what he put everyone through...** "

"A͡nd̡ wh͠a͝t ab͘o͏u͏t your͜self?͡ ̶D͡oub͘t y͠o̡uş is ̧a̧ ̵sh̸i͠ny ̡l͝it̷t͝le s͠i̸nl͠e̵ss swe̴et͏hea͟r̴t ͢con̵sid͢eri̧n͢' ͡w͟h͏a̧t ͝I s͠ee̸s down ҉here͢."

The angel huffed indignantly and stayed silent.

"I t̷h͝ou̷ght şo.̕.."

As the hand returned, Norman carefully aimed his grappling hook at the demon once again and fired. The hand flew through the air and grabbed the neck of it's target, forcing a gag out of the demon before Norman started to reel in his catch, a grumpy cross-armed creature who'd be tapping his good foot impatiently if he could.

**"What's the big idea, blockhead?! Couldn't you just carry me up those stairs?!"**

"Y̢ou̵'r̢e̷ welco̴me͠ f͠or f̡i͝n̵d͠i̷n'͟ ͟a̸ wa̕y͜ ͏to ģit ̶ya͢ u͡p͠ withou̵t mel͢tin'̧ ̷my̧ ͞dam͘n ar̛m͝ş ̶o͏ff."

The demon didn't open his mouth or change it in any way to stop himself from smiling, but from his body language, Norman could tell that he was about to tell him off before pausing and crossing his arms again.

**"...touche..."**

Norman turned to open the elevator door and gestured to it.

"Af̵t̴er̶ ͝y͝ou."

**"Thanks?"**

There was a brief moment of awkward silence between the two as the elevator carried them up.

**"So... Do you remember the loops or..."**

"L͘ast̴ t͘han̸g̵ ̧I rȩm͝e͡m̶b̡e͡r̛ȩd ͏b͢e͡f҉o͝r͠e̕ it ̧a̴ll҉ w̵ent̕ t͘o҉ bla̶c҉k͝ wa̡s̛ gettin' attacked by th̸i̷s l̨on͟ģ,͏ s͟tret̨c̡h͏ed-o͡ut cr̛eatu̸re w̢it̸ a͘n i͞nk sta̧i̵n͡e͟d ma̧s͠k͏ ̷tha̕t lo̢o͞k̶e̕d ̢l̷i͏k҉e i̡t ͡was ̵mąd͟e ̡out of one ̸of t͠h̸e h̸u̶ndr̢e͟ds̢ ̵of ̛cu͞t̵ơut̴s͡ ̡in ͢hęr͞e.͟"

**"I see."**

".̶.."

**"..."**

"..̕.͟"

**"You know, you're surprisingly calm about the whole... 'I've been killed, turned into a horrifying mechanical inky abomination, and now I'm trapped inside my former workplace surrounded by a bunch of bizarre corpses and evil beings who may or may not want me dead'."**

"W͞el̢l, e͞v͡e̢n̴ ͝wit̛hoųt͠ t͜h̡e ̕sh͞oc̶k̶ of it͝, ̧m̢y ̕o̕l̢d ̢jo̴b͟ was͢ w̛e͜i̴r҉d en̴ough that͞ ̶I ͞f͘ig͡u͝red so̵meth͏inģ k̴i̴nd̢a͘ ͜lik̨e͏ t̷hi͝s̨ ͘wo̵u͝ld h͝a̶p̸peņ soơn̢er or l̵a͡te͢r.͏"

 **"Wait, really?"** The demon gasped a bit in disbelief. **"How _weird_ does your old job have to be for you to just brush off $@*%ing _killer zombie ink people_ and _living cartoons_?!?"**

"I̢ ̴was ͜a͢ m̶or͏ti̡c͝ian͘, ̸it wa͝s m͞y̸ j̕ob to̶ ovase͏ȩ funeral̛ ͜a͘rr͠a̸n͜g̨e̛m̛en͝ts,̧ ̢pr̨ep͢a͘re̢ the͠ de͘a͘d ͢f̛or th̡eįr b̢u͘r̨ia̸ls a̴n' bu̕rnin̛g͞s̵,͘ ̷deal wi̛th͘ t̡he ̨lov̨e̶d one҉s͏ ̷the͝ de̸ad̡ le͘ft͟,͡ tha͠t̸ k͟ind ̨of͘ ̵t̕h͢i̶ng."

**"Let me guess: and sometimes the dead don't wanna rest?"**

"S͠o͜me̛tim̡es ̡the͠y͠ do,̕ ̛s̕o͜meti͏mes̶ ͜t̸h̵ey ͟d̴o̴n't, ̨ąn͠d̷ ͠so͞mętim͢es, ͠s̡omebody҉'͜s͟ s҉ha͝k̵i͝ng͜ ̨them ba̕ck a͏wake͞."

**"Oh I get it, over the years you got unfazed by it?"**

"Pr͏etty͡ ͞m̸u̸c͡h."

**"..."**

".͘.̨.̷"

**"..."**

".̵.̧.҉"

**"You know, I'm pretty sure that the elevator doesn't go up this high normally..."**

"Expe͝ct ̢it ta ͟dr҉op?"

The Ink Demon nodded in agreement and gripped one of the elevator's bars.

**"Expect it to drop, _hard_."**

Within seconds, the elevator was plunging deep down to the depths as the Norman and the Ink Demon screamed their lungs out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The smartest thing Joey ever did was drug a majority of his employees, not only could they not leave due to withdrawal in addition to the economic issues at the time, but it's also a good way to manipulate them and a surefire way to ensure that most of the 'crazy weird' stuff gets ignored.
> 
> Less fun fact for Joey: Drugs are expensive and he was bound to run out eventually. But the Ink alone doesn't have a strong enough kick to keep them under control.


	10. Ripping things in halves have odd consequences sometimes.

" _Almost... there..._ "

The prophet's hand was practically brushing up against the damned toon's tail feathers before he looked back and-

**_*ZIP!*_ **

" _ **DAMN IT!**_ "

Yet again, where he had once felt feathers at his fingertips, he was now clutching a cloud of kicked-up dust that was simply fading out of his grip as if it was nothing more than snow on a hot summer day.

Fighting the urge to curse more and kick something, Samuel instead clasped his hands together, took a deep breath in, and let it out.

" _It's frustrating as of now, but it will come to pass._ " He reassured himself. "I just need to be patient and let my Lord's guidance-"

" ** _*PPPPFFFFBBBBBTTTTHHH!!!*_** "

His face would be bright red with anger if he still had flesh as he whipped back to the immature beast who dared to blow _raspberries_ at the mention of his lord! As the bird re-realized that his hunter's attention was back on him, he started flying off again with the prophet hot on his hooves.

" _GET BACK HERE!_ "

He called out fruitlessly as the loop started all over again, both parties' stubbornness making it unable to stop.

It had been like this for at least several hours, possibly longer, possibly shorter, but certainly feeling like days to the prophet, maybe even a month. The toon chimera was far faster and much more agile than the living vessel. Unlike the earth-bound humanoid entity who only ran during emergencies, the beast was able to fly around, could fit into some _very_ narrow areas, and seemingly 'zipped' out of sight whenever he felt like the prophet was getting a little too close for comfort. When this happened, the later would grumble in frustration and focus on something else for a bit, only to then see the damn bird peek his beak out of a crate or a barrel before the chase started all over again. A scene that would look hilarious to an outsider, but was incredibly frustrating for him.

"Why are you behaving like this? Why must you make my life so damned _difficult_ "

The annoyed and exhausted prophet spat to thin air, not anticipating a response, but not entirely surprised to hear one.

"Gee, let me think:" The toon popped out of another barrel and began counting on his finger-mimicking feathers. "You're annoying, stupidly gullible, reckless with **both** of our lives, you have _killed_ people in the name of a 'god' who sees you as nothing but an obsessive gofer that he doesn't have to pay! And- ** _GAAAK!_** "

~~*OBJECTIVE: HUNT SAMPSON DOWN.~~

Grinning ear-to-ear underneath his mask, the prophet held up his prized parasite by his throat, almost wanting to relish in the burdensome beast's frantic flailing to be free from his iron grip, Samuel hesitated for a bit as part of him humored the idea of strangling the breath out of this blasphemous fool, this frustrating animal, this hard-headed, desperate... scared... unlucky son of a gun...

" _ ***GASSSP!*** *Huff* *Huff* *huff*_"

He sighed to himself as he freed the creature's throat and adjusted the still squirming sheepish songbird, carrying the troublesome animal under his arm like one would carry a small child that was in the middle of a temper tantrum. A far kinder position than keeping the beast up by squeezing his neck, but a lot less dignified. Said beast wasted no time in continuing to struggle to pull himself out of the vessel's grip, but to no avail.

Sampson tried squeezing himself out of the tight spot, but his captor might as well have been made out of glue as he still stuck right to his side. He tried kicking the prophet, but even if he did have more human-esc legs as opposed to sheep legs, he just wasn't in the right position to properly kick him. The chimera was just kicking his legs in midair while looking even more like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He tried frantically flapping his wings in the hopes that Samuel would let go, his hopes were raised as he felt himself being raised higher but were dashed as he saw that he was just somehow carrying himself _and_ his captor.

Before he could think of a way to use this to his advantage so he could escape, the vessel grabbed his wings with his free hand and tucked them to his sides, losing his free wing privileges.

Great, just great. This was exactly how he wanted to spend his time in his run-down work place: by being carried around to god knows where by some nutcase who believes that the Ink Demon is anything worth worshiping. In hindsight, maybe he should've just left the prophet to his antics while he went to work on breaking the ink people out as opposed to giving the mad man a taste of karma for ignoring him during the ritual and getting them into this mess, but 'hindsight' was just there to taunt him with his own stupidity.

"What are you going to do with me?"

The prophet stayed silent as he was not quite sure _what_ he was supposed to do with him either, although releasing him felt like it was off the table considering how annoying it was to catch him. But he could tell that the toon mistook his silence for a sinister plot as he made a fearful gulp and seemed to sweat nervously.

But as his captor walked on throughout the studio without any signs of throwing him into an ink-filled stairwell or into the bony arms of the Prophet's god, Sampson spoke up again.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because it's the will of my Lord."

Sampson rolled his eyes at the hollow shell's answer, 'his Lord', of course he did it for his stupid lord, did he ever do anything for himself?

"What do you even get out of serving him? All he does is boss you around on the 'good days' and torture you on bad ones!"

"Freedom, eventually. I just have to be patient and follow his orders. It's a virtue that _you_ should bother to learn yourself."

Maybe he was poking a bear with a stick, maybe he'd land himself in even hotter water because of this, but part of him was holding out hope that he could get the prophet to remember what the Ink Demon did to him. Surely, if he did, the pair could free everybody.

"And what will you do if he never frees you?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me: what will you do if he tells you that all of your devotion and sacrifices are meaningless to him? What do you do if he throws you away just like how _Joey_ threw _Us_ away the second he was done with us?"

"...I..." Samuel cleared the uncertainty out of his throat before speaking his proper thoughts. "I don't need humor you with an answer, blasphemer. Much like how you don't need to pretend to understand what my Lord is like."

The pair just continued to walk in tense silence until Samuel heard something coming from his (their?) sanctuary. 

" _Looking in, reaching out, what's all this fuss about?_ "

" _Boo hoo hoo, Uee hee hee! A pair of sad souls I see!_ "

" _Looking out, reaching in, when will the game begin?_ "

" _Twins of the inkwell, won't you come out of your cell?_ "

" _Looking up, looking down, why wear that sorry frown?_ "

" _Set yourselves free! Come play with me!_ "

" _I can give you the key..._ "

" _Come on down, come see the clown!_ "

" _There's no better place to be-_ "

An... interesting offer... but Samuel didn't feel right about taking it, at least, he didn't feel like he was ready to take it yet. Something about that self-proclaimed 'clown'? just made him feel like he would get himself into something ...troublesome.

* * *

He returned to the music department's break room for three reasons; To find a coffee machine (which was thankfully in the first crate he checked), to remake that old recording, and to give his arm a break as Sampson was getting a little heavy. But to prevent the chimera from escaping, he closed the door behind him and blocked it with his body.

"You went through all the trouble of catching me and bringing me back to the music department... to drink coffee and play pool with you?"

"No, this is the _break_ room." The Prophet sat down with his back against the door. "I brought myself here because that's what I need, a _break._ "

The Prophet flipped through his half of the torn sketchbook to figure out which parts of it to use in the new recording, the Chimera noticed the action itself and tried to make small talk with it.

"So you've seen the author's notes too, right?"

"Yes, I have found them to be interesting." Instead looking towards the demon, the vessel kept looking through the pages of the ritual. "Whoever wrote this seems to be someone who knows a lot about the nature of humanity and monster kind, as well as the nature and inner workings of gods and demons. It's no surprise that my Lord has blessed us with this scripture, a shame you had almost destroyed it, and a stroke of luck that you had failed."

Sampson rolled his eyes at Samuel's response. Of course the guy who saw a failed Bendy clone as a god would see the butcher gang as some sort of divine writers of holy scripture. ~~🕆︎☠︎☹︎☜︎💧︎💧︎ ☟︎☜︎ 🕈︎✌︎💧︎ ☞︎⚐︎☼︎☝︎☜︎❄︎❄︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 💧︎⚐︎💣︎☜︎❄︎☟︎✋︎☠︎☝︎✍︎ ⚐︎☼︎ 💧︎✋︎💣︎🏱︎☹︎✡︎ 👎︎✋︎👎︎☠︎🕯︎❄︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ 💣︎☜︎💣︎⚐︎☼︎✡︎ ✌︎❄︎ ✌︎☹︎☹︎📬︎📬︎📬︎~~

"Ever wonder what happened to them?"

"Hm?"

"The book just showed up in the village, do you think that they just dropped it or did someone steal it from them?"

"Most likely the latter if we're being honest. We both know how people can _get_ down here. Especially with something as valuable as this."

"Really?" The Music demon looked at him funny. "I mean, it can be hilarious at times just it's just a book."

Now it was the Prophet's turn to look at the Music demon funny.

"It's 'just a book'? and it's 'hilarious at times'? You have a rather... strange sense of humor if that's the case..."

"What's so weird about thinking that something that's basically a comic book with author's notes and model sheets is funny?"

"What's so hilarious about a book that delves deeply into the nature of the sentient races and how to ascend mortality?"

Sampson broke down into a hysterical laughing fit as Samuel slammed his half of the sketchbook shut out of frustrated embarrassment.

" _Are you fucking serious?!_ _It's just a goddamned comic collection for crying out loud!_ "

Samuel just stared at the cackling toon, wondering how on earth he had managed to share his body with this thing for so long. After he finally seemed like he was done, he cleared the old tape recording and started recording the new one.

"After performing the ritual within the book, he has blessed me and cursed me with new divine purposes..." He'll admit to himself that there was a snag of doubt, a short lived one, sure, but one that the irritating chimera quickly latched on to. "At least I think it's him.-"

"No! It's not him! I don't know who or what is telling us to do these things, but it's not the fucking Ink Demon!"

" _Will you stop that?!_ "

"Samuel! Has the Ink Demon ever used this method of getting you to do things before?! No! He'd talk to you directly! You know it's not him, I know it's not him-"

The prophet didn't respond to the heretic's nonsense, he just pushed him into a barrel, went outside the break room, and locked it behind him while the damned bird continued to 'sing'.

"...Nonetheless, I now know what I have to do to repent for my past sins. I know that I will have to be the one to set them free. I have learned how to set them free, but this freedom will come at a price."

The Vessel clicked off the tape as soon as he was done recording it, he didn't care that it was tainted by that blasphemous chimera he just wanted to get this darn tape back where it was supposed to be, in that room that was unfortunately tainted by the heretic's blasphemous vandalism. He knew that it would be wise for him to not look at or speak to the chimera for a while, otherwise he'd do something terrible to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, it's also annoying for me to see these half-brained half-wits getting into petty fights over something that could've been solved by them just showing each other their own halves of the sketchbook. Although, it's not yet time to be bringing halves together...
> 
> Crossed-out wingdings: UNLESS HE WAS FORGETTING SOMETHING? OR SIMPLY DIDN'T HAVE THAT MEMORY AT ALL...


	11. Eavesdropping is rude, but abandoning friends is ruder.

The Prophet was carrying the cutout around again. He... wasn't quite sure why he was doing that to be honest, maybe the familiarity of the holy symbol helped him keep his mind free from doubts and made him feel safe. He knew his lord saw out of them, the cutouts that were all over the studio. Perhaps knowing that his Lord was watching as he did his tasks helped him feel like everything he was doing was not in vain. He WOULD be free, his Lord watched what he was doing and would be pleased with his work.

No matter what the doubtful parasite tried to tell him otherwise.

" _Sheep, sheep, sheep... It's time for sleep, rest your head, it's time for bed._ "

"Hey! Sammy! Wait!"

" _In the morning you may wake, or in the morning you'll be dead._ "

Samuel took a side glance at the creatures whose's legs were stuck in the ink; A pair of humans in striped sweaters, one of with had a mask identical to the one he normally wore, a purple lizard creature, and most horrifying of all: death itself.

Thankfully, his Lord had protected him from the reaper's grasp by blessing him, letting him keep his ability to liquefy himself enough to easily slip through the cracks in the studio. The prophet did notice that the reaper spoke with a somewhat familiar voice as it reached out for him, but he didn't wait to see what the cartoon persona of death had in store for him, he was already for too familiar with the scythe the man was wielding and wasn't interested in returning to the puddles again. Samuel held perfectly still in his hiding spot and almost let out a sigh of relief as he saw that the creature didn't follow him but instead looked into the crack with a confused expression.

"I still don't know how he does that..."

"Ah, Samuel T. Lawrence... Even after all these years, all the time loops, and all the other supernatural sh--ugar-honey-iced-tea I've seen down here, you still somehow manage to be the _weirdest_ son of a gun in the entire studio."

Wow, that's rude. He was just about to leave, but now that this group of rag-tag misfits were talking shit about him he just couldn't go _now_. Not when the best way to find out the true colors of someone is when you hear them talk about you when they think you're not there. Plus, if they ever try to lie to him, he will know how they really feel.

"...Even weirder than the creep upstairs in the bathrobe?"

"Yeah, I know what's goin' on in Joey's mind an' how his powers work, but Sammy's? nope! that's all a complete enigma! Trust me, I've tried _everything_ I could ta get a grasp on what's goin' on in there, but it doesn't matta if I'm in his tapes, in his flock, or in his god, I've been playin' detective outta boredom for years only to get more questions than answers! It made so much sense at the start when I didn't have any of the pieces; "okay, he's da Ink Demon's prophet, maybe he hooks 'im up with cool powers so he stays loyal." except NOPE! next loop; I'M the demon, and I sure as heck didn't knowingly give him any magic tricks. And his 'craziness'? it's probably a lie! He looks 'crazy' on the surface wit' the whole cult thing worshippin' a cartoon, but as a former really dedicated member of Sammy's freakin' undaground nudist cult, either the crazy is contagious and I still don't know it, or he makes an awful lot of sense when ya actually sit down an' listen ta him."

...Okay, the talking tape recorder is possessed by someone who he's pretty sure is Wally (he knows no one else who could talk that much), said tape recorder had possessed some of his sheep AND his Lord Himself, and apparently he's aware of the loop too and has been so for years. That was a lot for him to take in, but he could buy it. He's a man made out of unholy ink who is currently on bad terms with a cartoon version of a physical manifestation of everything he hated about himself when he used to be human, he's in no position to deny reality on the grounds of its absurdity.

And as he thought back, sometimes, his Lord would be in a more lighthearted mood and would try to talk to him not as a god does with his follower, but much more casually, much more friendly, much more ...like he had genuinely cared about him. Those moments had given him the most hope that He'd set him free. And there were times where he could remember a searcher curling up close to his hovel as he preached his sermons, a slightly swollen searcher who wore a newsboy cap...

"This 'Sammy' guy sounds like he knows how to party."

"Ya'd think so, but no, not really. He was kinda a wallflower back at my wedding. Could slap together a real toe-tapper, but it seems like he only _makes_ da music, he doesn't dance ta it, yaknow?"

Wait a second! He was at _Wally's wedding?!_ When did that happen?! How did that happen?! He... could believe that the janitor had invited him but no matter how hard he racked his brain he couldn't remember what his relationship with the janitor was actually like, he could only go off of what the old tapes had said.

"That's not what I... Nevermind."

The group then proceeded to unlock the gates and left the prophet with more questions than answers. Answers that he almost came out of hiding to get, until-

*OBJECTIVE: INVESTIGATE THE CIRCUS MUSIC

*TIP: CHECK YOUR SANCTUARY.

...The new objective popped up, just as he was about to call out to them. Oh well, if the past meant that much to him then he could seek the lord's flock out later, but for now, a prophet's work is never done.

* * *

Deep, deep, down below, from within the rubble of the still smoldering remains of the elevator, a mangled-up amalgamate of machinery and ink whirred back to life.

"U̴u̵uuuggh͡h͞hh̶h̵h.͟.̷..̨"

After letting out a groan that came out garbled from his damaged speaker, he pulled himself up and steadied himself by gripping onto the grate that used to serve as the elevator's door while clutching the device that was serving as his head.

"De̵ar͠ ̛lo̵rd!̕ ͟My͡ hea̶d̴ ̧h͝u͏rt̷s like h̛ell҉.͝..͝"

As did the rest of him, but to a lesser extent compared to his head. How was he getting a headache when his head was a projector? He may never know. But it was not fun for Norman to discover that even as whatever-the-fuck-he-was-now, he could still feel pain. Some part of him might look back and be thankful that he could still, well, _feel_ things as opposed to not feeling anything at all, but right now; fuck Joey Drew for whatever he did that sent the studio to shit, and double fuck him for being the reason why he's trapped in a mechanical-inky body that can somehow feel pain even though ink and machinery aren't made with nerves in them.

"A̡t ͘l҉eas͞t not̨h͜ing ͝feel͟s͝ broke̕n.҉..͢ "

He dusted the rubble off himself and looked around the place for any signs of where his lanky companion was or went. Luckily, he seemed to have built-in night vision as while there wasn't a single light on, he could still see his surroundings well enough to tell that this was the floor where Grant's office was. Unluckily, he could not spy the Ink Demon or any tracks from him anywhere in sight, and to make matters worse, when he walked away he heard a sickening _CRUNCH_ from under his boots. Feeling a stone of dread plummeting in his stomach, the Projectionist knelt down to what he had unintentionally destroyed: a pair of reels.

"O͡h _hel̨l_ no̴!" Norman frantically scooped up as many pieces of the reels as he could. "I am not͘ ͠tu͏r̨ning back̸ ͜iņto t̶ha͜t ̸m͜indless̛ ͡t̛h͠a̶n͏g!"

In the corner of his eye, the man saw a strange, mostly empty vial that had a few drops of red liquid at the bottom of it. A vial that he swore wasn't there before, along with an accompanying message.

*URGE TO KILL EMPTY, 'THE PROJECTIONIST' REMAINS DORMANT UNTIL URGE TO KILL IS HIGH.

"...O͢ka͜y.͝.͝." He set the reel remains back down, he thought for a moment before asking whatever force that was communicating with him a question. "A͢ny̛th̨ang els͝e͏ ͝I̵ ͜s̢houl̸d be͝ aw̧ar̵e̛ of? L̢ike w̛h̸e͢ŗe ̵di̧d̵ ̨th̡a̕ţ ink҉y̸ devil̕ ̴r҉u̶n ̛o̴ff͞ t͜o͟o͠? ̷Ơr̸ ͠the̵ ̢nea͞res̵t̷ ̵w̷o͏r̸king e͏x̨it, is ma͜y͢be̴?̨"

*OBJECTION: SURVIVE WITH YOUR MIND INTACT.

*TIP: AVOID RAISING SUSPICIONS.

"..̶.Avo͢i҉d͠ r̡a͢i̧sing _who̴'ş_ sus̸p̛ic͘ions̡? A̸nd͞ ͜w͠h͞ere a͝re͜ yo͞us? ͏W̴h͝at are ̛yo͡u̧s?͢ ͏Whe͡re͟ ͝d͜id ͞yo̴u҉s ̡cǫme͜ from͡?͠"

*OBJECTION: SURVIVE WITH YOUR MIND INTACT.

*TIP: AVOID RAISING SUSPICIONS.

The message repeated itself without giving away any answers. Norman sighed to himself and shook his head. He also would've pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, but he remembered that he didn't have one anymore.

"We͘ļl th͠at͠'s ͏re͟a̧lly he̵lp̴f̵ul.̵.."

The man felt like he was either lucidly dreaming or completely losing his mind. It might've been years or decades even, but it felt like just yesterday he was just a relatively normal person doing his typical work along with keeping a careful watch on some red flags he saw popping up at work. And now here he was; an unholy mashup of ink, machine parts, and possibly black magic, left at the bottom of an elevator crash arguing with vague cryptic messages that might not even exist while he should be looking for the taffy-pulled version of the studio's main star and a way to escape this madhouse.

It was funny to him, hilarious even.

"W̨h͞a͘t̛ ̵am I e̡ve̢n͟ ͜doi͢ng with my ͝l̢if̶e!?͝" The man choked out through his own suffocating laughter. "O̕r͞ ͜is͜ i̡t ҉m͘y̨ af͝terlif͞ę n͟ow?"

*OBJECTION: SURVIVE WITH YOUR MIND INTACT.

*TIP: AVOID RAISING SUSPICIONS.

"Alr̛i͡ght,̸ ̧I ҉get i̸t!̛" Norman halfheartedly snapped at the message. "I̸'m͡ ģoi҉ng͏ ͏a̷l̷r͝ea͢d͠y͡, don̛'̵t̕ ̧ge̛t y҉ou̕r ͞..̢.f͠o͠nt(?̶) in̶ ͏a͞ tw͘i͞st.̢"

He limped his way down the dark and empty hallway while muttering under his nonexistent breath. But he couldn't deny that the mysterious force did have a good point. Just waiting around in the elevator crash doing nothing but laughing to himself over bad jokes that probably didn't make sense to most people wouldn't help him find where that lanky devil had run off to, or help him figure out what in the world happened while he was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unfortunate thing about being the smartest person in the studio is that it will conspire non-stop to make you look like an idiot, whether it means putting you into a situation where you argue to thin air or literally reduce you to a feral beast of a machine.


	12. Jevil is a great tutorial boss.

"Damned idiot..." Sampson sighed as he paced around the break room that had quickly turned into a prison. "How on earth did we manage to work together last time?! How did he break out of his worship?"

He kept on wracking his brain for information that didn't come to him. That he felt weird for questioning why it didn't come to him. It was moments like this that reminded him just who had control over the world: A man obsessed with 'dreams'. He might as well had been 'lucid dreaming' last time and Joey was clearly and obviously trying to put him under.

And in hindsight, maybe that's why he wouldn't shut up about his hatred for the Ink Demon in spite of common sense showing him that he'd need to keep his mouth shut to work with what should have been his greatest ally; because Joey knew that two heads would be better than one. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like a spiteful idiot who tossed aside his own freedom for the sake of his pride. He was giving Samuel crap for being ridiculous and stupid while he was a literal fucking cartoon character.

The irony was not lost on him.

Being stuck in that room did give him ample time to think and reflect.

\---

"When is he going to let me out?"

The chimera's question went unanswered.

"He can't keep me in here forever. Sooner or later, he's going to come back. He wouldn't just come and chase me all over the damned music department just because he could."

Sampson was again met with nothing but silence. It was unsure if he was waiting for someone to answer him or something to happen.

"...But the scatterbrain could've gotten lost on the way back from wherever he went, or could've forgotten me altogether."

\---

The balls on the table clacked against the walls of the pool table, a few of them flying out and ricocheting all over the room at top speeds thanks to toon logic. Sampson ducked and crawled underneath the table as he heard the balls knocking over inkwells.

"This would be so much more playable if I had something to use as a cue stick."

He flinched as he heard the sound of a pipe breaking, splattering a sea of ink into his prison and lowering his sanity by a smidge.

"...Fuck, that's gotta leave a mess..."

\---

"Alright, it took forever, but I've finally dragged this gramophone out from the bottom of those crates!"

As Sammy put on a record, the gramophone sprang to life as what the toon could only describe as modern carnival music came pouring out of the horn. In the literal sense. The inky staff and its stuck-in notes came out like silly string, and it sang with a strange voice he had never heard before.

" _Chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos!_ "

"...And I regret everything."

" _Iissssn't it lovely to be freeeeeeeeee...?_ "

The gramophone sang out as diamonds, spades, clubs, and hearts spilled out of the horn in a messy spray that Sampson flew to avoid.

" _Chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos!_ "

The staff and notes began to move, giving the gramophone a body and limbs.

" _Nooooooow you can play with me!_ "

"I DON'T WANT TO!"

" _Chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos! Don't worry it won't get boring..._ "

"AT THIS POINT I'D PREFER BORING!"

" _Chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos, chaos! I can do any-thing!_ "

More inky spades, diamonds, and clubs appeared. Signaling that it was time for the show to really begin.

" _Liiiiiiiife is like a carnivaaaaaal! The games are rigged But hey! that's okay! You still get to play! You came too far to refuse!_ "

Sampson narrowly dodged a barrage of playing card themed attacks as the gramophone continued to sing.

" _Whyyyyy don't you give it a tryyyyy? It's just a number's game after all! Let the numbers fall! Your HP's Gone, you lose!_ "

The toon dove for the pool table and began hitting as many of the balls as he could, letting them ricochet all over the room and hitting the gramophone's horn in the process. Yes! He felt like he was doing something!

" _Come take my spades and clubs and diamonds as your guide to dance and spin elegantly out of harm or into it, both sound like fun!_ "

A spade found it's way directly into Sampson's chest, piercing him and staining his waistcoat black.

" _A smattering of **Chaos, Chaos** keeps the world __exciting... So let's play and excite eve-ry-one!_ "

"I'D RATHER _NOT!_ "

But the gramophone monster did not listen, it only continued to sing as Sampson evaded its attacks and kept trying to shoot the pool balls at it.

* * *

As a good prophet, Samuel did as he was told and went to the sanctuary. His sanctuary.

He preformed the key to let him in, a four-note ditty he knew better by muscle memory more than his actual memory and the shutter door opened without issue.

However, the small space that had once been a sacred place of peace for his weary mind had looked nothing like how he left it! Gone were the instruments, the furnature, anything related to his lord and worship, even the walls themselves had disappeared! The one and only place he felt like he could truly be safe and 'maskless' so to speak had been violated, and it felt like a hard kick to his ribs.

Walking into that room felt like walking into a whole other world, a world that strongly reminded Samuel of the dark puddles, a colorless, bleak void those only solace from its inescapable, oppressive bleakness was the small, carousel island he was standing on. Even if it didn't have any horses and was only two colors: an ugly, grayish purple and a dark blue that made his head hurt for some reason.

~~*OBJECTIVE: INVESTIGATE THE CIRCUS MUSIC~~

~~*TIP: CHECK YOUR SANCTUARY.~~

*OBJECTIVE: LEARN THE NEW GAME'S RULES.

*TIP: TALK TO JEVIL.

The Vessel looked around the small island only to find nothing, not even the entrance where he came from! Let alone anything that the writing would consider whatever or whoever "Jevil" was. But the circus music he had heard from earlier had still been playing, so it had to come from somewhere. As he looked harder, he spotted something that was a brighter and less ugly shade of purple than the carousel; something that looked like the letter 'J'.

Curiously, he approached it, only to have it zip away from view when he almost touched it.

"I'm not going to play THAT game again." Samuel huffed as he sat down with his back against the carousel's body. "Go look for Sampson if you want to play it."

"Oh? And why didn't he come then?" A voice from behind the carousel's body asked. "Doesn't he want to play with us too?"

That voice from behind the pillar... Samuel wasn't sure if it was an adult or a child, he wasn't sure if it sounded perfectly sane or completely crazy, he couldn't tell you if the speaker was immensely euphoric or clinically depressed. Maybe it was both all and none of those things. After all, the world here was a revolving place it seemed, all rights turn to lefts on a circling cycling plane of existence. But what Samuel knew for a fact is that it was curious. Or, maybe it already knew everything, he couldn't tell.

"No, at least, not if I'M here... He and I don't get along very well."

"As twins do! As twins do!" The speaker sprang out of hiding, giving the prophet a cheerful nod and a jingle of his bells. "But even if you're as different as day and night, I think we both know that's not why you fight, fight."

Samuel found himself just, staring at the strange little creature before him. He thought that The Sheep and his Lambs were strange compared to the inky world of monsters he was used to, he thought that the purple creature that traveled with them was strange on a similar level. But the... jester? before him was something else entirely. He felt wrong and like he was committing a sin just by looking at him, like they were never supposed to be aware of the other's existence, let alone meet each other.

' _He must be Jevil.'_ He thought.

"Cat caught your tongue?" The jester tilted his head to the side so far that the prophet could see the metal coils that connected it to his body. "What's spoiling the fun?"

"Well..." Samuel sighed. "The sheepish songbird is blind to many truths of this world and I do grow frustrated over it, especially since HE insists that I'm the blind one! Pitiful... As he is seemingly a creature made out of my former self's brash, and ever doubting nature"

"Uee hee hee! Aren't we all, all? Blind to this world and THAT world, mercy and fight, dark and light... Maybe you're both blinded by eyes who lie to you, you two... Or in your case, a god-"

*URGE TO KILL RISING.

" _The nature of my Lord is none of your concern_." The vessel spat as stood up from his seat, snatching up the still grinning gremlin's spring neck in his hand. "All gods dream that they could be a mere slither like him. Yes he is strange, and illogical by human standards at times, but most fair and will hold true to his word, unlike Him..."

"... _Him?_ "

"Now, you've spoken of 'playing' right?" Samuel changed the subject as he was not in the mood to have his faith questioned by a clown of all things, or have to dig up any memories of Joey. "What game did you want to play?"

"Oh! I just want to play a simple number's game-"

"Wait!"

The clown frowned as Samuel interrupted him.

"Before we start your game, I want to make a deal of sorts with you."

"A deal, deal?" Jevil's head tilted to the side again, and a large smile came back on his face. "And what are the terms of it?"

"There will be two games, one of your choosing and one of mine, I assume yours will be your numbers game?"

"Yes, yes! The impish clown nodded. "A spot-on guess!"

"And mine will be a musical game. Now to make this more interesting, lets have some stakes out. What to you want if you win either of the two games?"

"Hmmm... I'll think about it!" The jester shrugged. "And if you win both, both?"

Samuel slipped off his mask and smiled in a way that sent chills down Jevil's spine.

"I think we both know that my friend."

"Very well," Jevil summoned up his attacks as the prophet held his ground. "Let the numbers game begin!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is the world revolving (RecD).


End file.
